


I Want To Come Over

by hnsnrachel



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2010-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 100,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hnsnrachel/pseuds/hnsnrachel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm stuck in a game that one of the players doesn't know he's playing. I don't know where the finish line is, or if there can even be any winners. I do know that the prize is Callie, and I'll fight for that to the end, whatever and wherever that may be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As I sneak out of the house once more, I promise myself it's for the last time, and my heart immediately chastises me. It knows it's a lie. It's a sentiment that I feel often, but never strongly enough to keep my word. Though I hate myself for what I have allowed myself to become, though I detest that I am the reason she behaves in a way of which I most definitely do not approve, I'm addicted. No matter how much I try to stay away, Callie always draws me back in. I'm in love with her, and I believe she loves me too, but a dark part of my mind wonders if I believe her because it's the truth, or if I believe her because I so desperately want it to be the truth. When we're alone together, I feel like I truly am her whole world, but the one thing I'm sure of in this mess is that Mark feels the same.

She was already married when I started working at Seattle Grace, and it almost killed me to discover that. I had followed her with my eyes every chance I got, wondering what exactly it was about Mark Sloan that had her at his side every spare moment. I'd been at the hospital a few months before I built the nerve to ask the woman I had almost become obsessed with for drinks, but of course, Mark had been there too. I figured, what the Hell, I'd invite them both. At least then I wouldn't seem so desperate to spend time with her. I didn't know that that night would be the start of something that would burn so wildly out of control. To be honest, looking back, I'm not sure that if I had known they were married, I would have changed my decision. The moments of Heaven with Callie are more than worth the moments of torture. And that night at Joe's was the catalyst.

Now I'm stuck in a game that one of the players doesn't know he's playing. I don't know where the finish line is, or if there can even be any winners. I do know that the prize is Callie, and I'll fight for that to the end, whatever and wherever that may be.

***

For the first time since I started working at Seattle Grace, there's a genuine smile plastered across my face as I watch Callie rib Mark about his inability at darts. He's had three attempts so far, and every one of them has sailed wide of the board.

"Erica, tell me you're better at darts than he is." I didn't tell her she could call me Erica, she just did it, as naturally as if she'd been doing it for years. With most people, I'd have bristled, and when Mark tried, I did, but from Callie, I like it. I like listening to her voice almost caress the syllables of my name, and the first time she used my first name, somewhere in the back of my mind I thrilled at the thought of how her voice would sound screaming it, but I pushed the thought away. This is really the first time we've spoken, and I've heard rumors about her and one of the interns that definitely don't speak to her being prone to the Sapphic. I knew though that I'd explore the idea later, probably alone.

Her smile in my direction almost takes my breath away, and I take a sip of my drink before answering, giving me time to find composure. "With my eyes closed."

"Sloan, go buy me a drink."

"Excellent. I'm the grunt again. I swear, spending time with you is like being an intern again, Torres." There's a teasing note in Sloan's voice when he says her name, almost as though there's a secret or joke that I'm not in on, but I don't think about it any further when she slaps him lightly on the arm then holds her hand out to me to help me out of my seat. Sloan's grumbling about something as he heads to the bar, and Callie laughs at him, but I don't hear the words. I'm too wrapped up in the silken feel of her skin against mine, and the twinkle in her eyes when she looks back at me. She makes me feel like the most important person in the world as her attention settles on me, and I feel her eyes and smile almost as distinctly as a touch. She's having that much of an effect on me, and I groan internally as she hands me her darts and heads to the board to pull Sloan's out of the wall. My eyes fall to her ass as her hips sway, and I know that it would be far, far too easy to love her. I'm standing on a dangerous precipice, but I can't find it in me to care.

"You ready?"

"Always." I watch her as she lines up her throw and releases the dart, cataloguing the line of her body and the ripple of the muscle in her arms. Her aim is almost perfect, and the dart lands millimeters from the bull's-eye. If she can keep that up, she'll give me a run for my money. It's been a long time since anyone could keep up with me at the dartboard. I ignore the voice in the back of my head that wonders where else she could keep up with me. I need to focus right now and the deliciously naughty speculation certainly won't help me with that. I'm glad in this moment that Dr. Hahn is always so close to the surface and I pull a little of her focus from the reserve tank and line up my own shot. My aim IS perfect, and Callie frowns as I turn nonchalantly back to my drink. 

"Is there anything you can't do?" The slight complaint in her voice is tempered by her wide grin and the twinkle in her eyes. I drink her in, reveling at the thrill that runs through me when her attention is so definitely entirely on me. I smile in what I hope is a mysterious way as I watch Sloan make his way back to us, juggling three beers.

"Here you go, your Highness." He hands a beer to Callie and puts the other two on the table, one in front of me, and I thank him with a smile that doesn't come close to the beaming grin that Callie throws him as she threatens to slap him. His eyes wander over her and then behind her to the dartboard. "Ohh, she's beating you too, huh, Hahn?"

"I'm beating her, actually."

"Now this, I've gotta see, Torres humbled."

Callie pouts in his direction and I allow myself to entertain thoughts of capturing her all too tempting lower lip with my mouth for just a second before laughing at the playful glimmer in her eyes. I know I'm playing with fire and that this is probably not the cleverest thing I could be doing, but I also know that I don't care. From the little I've heard about her, and the brief time we've spent at the bar, I'm starting to see that Callie Torres could be worth every second of the pain that I'm sure she could all-too-easily cause me.

I bite the straw in my drink as Mark leans over to Callie, kissing her on the cheek. "It just doesn't happen that often beautiful. Forgive me for enjoying it while I can." Some part of my brain notes the pet name, but who wouldn't call Callie beautiful? It's suspicious, but I've seen no other evidence that they are more than friends, and I've heard no gossip at all. And let's be honest, if they're a couple, it would be a complete miracle if they're managing it without the gossip queens of Seattle Grace catching on. I couldn't give a damn about the love-lives of my colleagues, and I've still  heard the most intimate details of the relationship between Grey and Shepherd, and just about every other person in the hospital. I've never worked anywhere that is ranked so highly and yet, I've never worked anywhere that the doctors seem more concerned with sex and gossip whilst they're at work than actually saving lives.

The sound of Callie's voice pulls me from my musing, and I look up at her. There's a strange expression on her face as she looks back at me: confusion mixed with guilt and a glimmer in her eyes that I can't quite read. I force myself to stand, knowing that we need to keep playing, and wondering if I should let her win so the pout doesn't make another appearance.

"Okay, Hahn, I'm going to kick your ass."

"In your dreams, Torres."

The pout can make another appearance. I don't take well to dares, and that's clearly what she's doing, trying to psyche me into making a mistake. I just flash her a cocky smile, the one that I know says 'I'm good and I know it' and move to stand slightly behind her at the dart board. This time, she goes one better than the last, and as the dart hits the center of the board, I reassess her ability. I thought she was good, but not as good as I am, but I might actually have my work cut out foe me. Especially if she continues the borderline-flirtatious grins and hair tosses.

"Beat that."

I step up again, sliding my hand across the small of her back as I do. She stiffens slightly, but  then relaxes into the touch, and the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton of her shirt threatens to derail my concentration. I take a second to compose myself, flashes of things I would much rather be doing than playing darts with her flying through my mind. I push them away, forcing myself to concentrate on the game at hand. She issued a challenge and I more than intend to step up. Even distracted, the dart hits home and Callie groans behind me.

"_You_ beat it."

She trembles slightly as I whisper in her ear, and I can't read her. I wish I could more than anything right now. Rumors and speculation and the behavior I've witnessed contrast with the behavior I'm seeing right now and I just don't know if she's interested in something more. I would say more than friendship, but one evening of darts and drinking after work does not a friendship  make, and I don't just want to be her friend. I'm not fooling myself, and from the speculative look Mark throws me as he cheers us on, I'm not sure that I'm fooling him, either.

Despite my best efforts, I can't stop my eyes from wandering every time she steps up. Mark's eyes are focused on her too, and we catch each other looking once or twice, neither one of us sure what to say to the other, but knowing that we both appreciate Callie's figure in more than an aesthetic way. His eyes seem to size me up and dismiss me as he catches me looking, and I'm not sure what that means. Is he just confident that Callie isn't interested in women, or does he actually know something that I don't? I can't be sure, and it makes me uncomfortable.

Not uncomfortable enough to lose the game though. Callie's a surprisingly good loser, given that she laughs and tells me that Mark is the only person ever willing to play her at darts, and I've seen how bad he is, so I doubt she ever loses. Despite the numerous distractions watching her has given me, I played a near perfect game, and, though under other circumstances the "near" would bother me, I have to congratulate myself for not giving in to the urge to lose on purpose, or the urge to lose myself in the myriad of naughty  
thoughts that have been running through my mind all night.

"Nice try, Callie. Good game though."

She wraps me in her arms as I hold out a hand for a conciliatory handshake, and I breathe her in, enjoying the feel of her breasts against my own, the brush of her hair across my shoulder, the feel of her wrapped in my arms and I try and memorize the scent that I'm sure I could search for the world over and never find again. I hold her a little too long, but she doesn't seem to mind. A cough from Mark is what makes me let go of her and I spin to face him. I don't know if I should feel guilty or not, but I don't. I can't feel guilty for enjoying how she felt in my arms. I just can't.

"Congratulations, Hahn."

He offers his hand and I take it, accepting his sentiment in the spirit in which it was intended. I flash him a small smile and let go, heading back to the table and downing the rest of my beer.

"Another drink, Erica?"

"I'll buy. What do you want?"

Her eyes twinkle as I look up for her answer. "Uh uh, you won, which means I buy your drinks. Another beer?"

I nod my thanks as Sloan walks back over to us, placing a hand on Callie's back that's almost possessive. "You're not going to ask what I want?"

She smiles up at him and I feel something in my chest clench, dangerously close to my heart. "I've told you before Mark. The day you beat me at darts is the day that I buy you drinks." She saunters off to the bar, completely unaware that Mark and I are both watching her go. We catch each other looking, and look away too quickly to make being left alone together a comfortable experience.

"What do you say? Wanna kick my ass too?" He gestures towards the dartboard and flashes me an all-American smile that probably gets him whatever he wants from most women. Not me though, I'm immune and I think we're both aware of it. I take the darts from the table where Callie left them and hold them out to him. He takes them and we move to the dartboard.

He's better than I thought he was. He's not quite as good as I am, but he could probably give Callie a run for her money if he wanted to.  
He matches me almost point for point until the last few throws. I glance back over my shoulder and see Callie walking back towards us, and the reason that he suddenly doesn't seem to know which end of the dart is supposed to hit the board becomes clear to me. I give him a scathing look and he looks back at me almost pleadingly. "Don't tell her."

"She wouldn't think you were less of a man if you won every once in a while, Sloan."

"I just like to see her smile. Winning makes her smile."

I want to ask what their relationship is because the flashes of something more than friendship between them that I keep glimpsing aren't anywhere near conclusive, and they cover whatever else might simmer below the surface with friendship so well that I feel a little like I'm trying to walk across quicksand. Callie's standing beside us and holding out my beer before I can though, and as I throw the last dart of the game and wrap up what turned out to be a conclusive win after Mark's deliberately pathetic last few attempts, Callie sways back to the table, knowing that we'll both follow her.

There's something so confident about her, but as we talk, I realize that she's incredibly vulnerable. It's amazing to see someone who seems so strong let down the walls, and I know that we have that in common. It almost makes me want to let down my own walls, but with Sloan here, I know I can't do that. She tells me about George O'Malley, the totally inept intern that she was infatuated with and my heart sinks to my stomach. Every time she laughs though, I can't help but smile in response. She spends too much of her time flirting with Mark for my comfort, but she's flirting with me as well and she's making my head spin. It wouldn't be so bad if I could understand what it is she's doing, but even though I can't hate a beautiful woman - this beautiful woman - flirting with me, there's a lump in my throat every time she switches her attention back to the man we're with. He smirks lasciviously across the table at me every time she does it, and I know what he's thinking. I know what kind of dirty fantasies are swimming through his mind. Similar ones - minus him - have taken root in mine.

Three hours into the night, Callie is wasted out of her mind. She's smiling at nothing, sitting between me and Sloan and glancing between the two of us, a speculative gleam in her eye. I'm surprised she's still able to sit without falling, and I'm as impressed with her alcohol tolerance as I am by everything else about her. Six shots of tequila, five beers, and three gin and tonics is a lot of alcohol for anyone to hold and I'm thinking that she might be the most adorable drunk I've ever seen.

When she leans in my ear and whispers "I like you, Dr. Hahn." I decide that she definitely is the most adorable drunk ever, not just that I've ever seen. Normally, drunk people try my patience, but her... she's different. She drops a kiss on my cheek and I have to fight the urge to raise my hand to my cheek in wonder as she pulls away. She's back to grinning at nothing, and it doesn't take me long to lay the foundations of letting her know I want her. The next time Mark goes to retrieve more drinks at her bidding, I shift along the bench we're sitting on just a little, just close enough to feel the heat from her thigh against mine. We're not touching as I place on hand on the shoulder furthest away from me and sweep her hair back off her shoulder with the other. I take a second to marvel at the silky softness of her hair against my fingers, wondering what it would feel like tangled in my hands, before I lean in, making sure my breath sweeps across her neck before hitting her ear. I feel more than see her shiver, and I know I have her. I know I could have her. Whether she knows that right now is irrelevant. I know it, and it makes me feel ten feet tall.  She might not know it, and I won't act on it, but the knowledge that she could be interested if she lets herself be rockets through me like nothing ever has before, giving me the confidence I need to take this that slight step further than I originally planned.

My lips just close enough to brush her ear, I whisper "I like you too, Callie." and then I pull back, missing the feel of her immediately. I watch as she sits next to me in stunned silence, running her fingers over her own neck. She's processing and I know it - what healthy lesbian doesn't know what processing looks like? - but I feel good, better than I have in months, as I watch her do it. I've planted a seed in her head and all I need to do is let it grow. If she's single, which I realize with a frisson of fear that I don't know despite the things she's shared tonight, if I can play this slow enough, being with Callie Torres could become reality for me. The thought gives me all the strength I need to put a little more space between us as Mark returns to the table.

He places drinks in front of us, a red wine for me, and a glass of something clear for Callie, and he winks at me conspiratorially as she lifts the glass to her lips.

"Fuck, Sloan" The expletive falls from my mouth before I can help it when Callie spits her drink straight in my face. He's doubled over laughing as he watches it happen, and Callie clumsily grabs napkins from the table, knocking Mark's beer into his lap as she does. I try  
hard not to laugh as Callie sloppily tries to dry my face with the napkins whilst Mark splutters his outrage, but I don't quite manage.

"Oh my God, Erica, are you okay. I swear I'm not drunk,  I'm not, I just- water, Mark! You got me water!"

"And when you spit out water, you know you're so drunk that it's time to go home. That's the rule. We established it months ago, Callie."

Mark is gamely dabbing at his pants with the bottom of his shirt. Callie doesn't even seem to have noticed that she knocked Mark's beer over, she's so focused on me. I know I shouldn't but I silently mark this moment off as a victory. I don't know it yet, but I won't get many of those in the coming months. Later, I'll wish I savored moments like these more. Now though, it just feels good that I come first in her world, even if it is because she just didn't notice her clumsiness.

Callie looks down and notices a drop of water that's sitting just above the neckline of my shirt. She tosses Mark the napkins and I faintly recognize that she did know she'd spilt beer all over him as she wipes the droplet of water away with her thumb. We're breathing the same air and my breath catches in my throat when she looks up into my eyes. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did that."

"It's okay. Happens to the best of us."

"You can't tell me you've ever spat water in a friend's face."

"Well no." I don't know whether to laugh or cry that she called me a friend.

"I'm the biggest loser on the planet."

"No, you're not. Maybe at this table," I glance at Mark to make it obvious who her competition is and she giggles "But not on the planet."

I feel the loss of her keenly when she pulls away. Mark gives up on the wet patch on his pants and stands from the bench, grabbing Callie's arm and pulling her out of the booth too. "Okay Drunkie McDrunk, it's time to get you home"

"But I was just having fun!"

"Home, Callie. Now."

She pouts, but she grabs her purse and jacket. I drink the wine in one gulp, wanting to leave with them for reasons I don't really understand and stand up too. Callie pulls me into a hug again, and I know I'm really in trouble when I don't want to let her go. I've never responded to someone like this before, never been so instantly or intently drawn in, but I'm drawn to her. I know practically nothing about her, but I like her more than I should. She glances back over her shoulder before pulling out of our embrace. The giggles take over as she looks down at Mark's crotch, and it's infectious. I join her.

Mark glares at both of us before smiling too. "Nice spending time with you, Dr. Hahn. You're not quite as bad as I thought."

"Same to you, Dr. Sloan."

"What's with the 'doctor' doctors?" Callie dissolves in a fit of drunken giggles and Mark and I both smile fondly at her.

"As fun and enlightening as this evening has been, I really think it's time I took her home." He shoots me a significant look on "enlightening." We're both very aware what he's talking about, but Callie, thankfully, is oblivious as she waves at me while he hustles her out the door.

I head home myself, and I'm aware that I've probably overindulged a little tonight, especially as I have surgeries in the morning. It's still quite early though, and I replay the evening - and Callie's smiles - as I wait for a cab and I can't find it in me to regret it. I'm not sure what I was expecting when I asked them for drinks, but I'm certain I wasn't expecting to have as much fun as I did. I could have done without Mark being there, but all things considered, he's not such a bad guy, despite his constant flirting with any women in his immediate vicinity. Callie though, Callie is pretty amazing. She could be the one exception to my dislike of people.

As I drift off to sleep remembering how she felt against my body, I'm really hoping she is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Like everyone else in the world, I hate waking up when a dream's just getting good. It normally puts me in a bad mood for the rest of the day, especially when it's getting good with someone like Callie Torres. I can't help it, I'm drawn to her. The commute from my place to the hospital on top of that, and God help anyone who gets in my way when I first arrive at work. This morning though, I'm in the elevator, coffee in hand when I spot Callie lunging for the door. As I reach out a hand to stop the doors from closing - something I'd have done for no one else I work with when my day has started out with frustration and road rage - I offer her a smile and let my eyes run across her body. An image of her wanton and spread before me from my dream flashes in my mind and I'm glad of my almost legendary control when I manage to greet her with a professional "Dr. Torres." Sure, there's a friendly lilt to it, but it's better than whimpering out "Callie."**

**Her answering smile sends a shiver through me, and her voice is the only sound I've ever heard that I would actually miss if I never heard it again. How is it that after just one night spent drinking and talking with this woman, I'm melting inside when I see her again. There's a teasing lilt to her tone when she replies, "Dr. Hahn, anyone who can out drink me and still kick my ass at the dartboard gets to call me Callie." We both know that I called her Callie all last night, but there's boundaries to be observed here at work, and I didn't want to assume that she would be okay with my calling her by her first name in a professional setting. I'm still not sure that I'd be okay with her calling me Erica here, but if there's anyone other than the Chief that I would allow to use Erica, it would be her. I already know that.**

**"Last night was actually fun wasn't it?" She agrees with a smile and a slight nod and I watch the line of her throat as she tilts her head back, drinking from the water bottle in her hand. I swallow with her my throat dry as I imagine trailing my lips over the tempting skin of her neck, as I long to feel the thumping of her pulse against my tongue. Sipping from my coffee, I give myself the split second I need to regain my composure and  continue "And I'm not a group person."**

**"Me neither."**

**"I think it's because I generally don't like people."**

**There's a giggle in her tone as she replies this time "Me neither." I can't help but wonder what else we have in common. More than anything else I want to get to know this woman. She intrigues me in a way that no one else ever has, and I think that I'd be lucky to just be her friend. I'd like so much more, but something tells me that anyone who's lucky enough to have this woman in their life should be happy with whatever her role there is.**

**The elevator slides to a stop and Mark Sloan is standing in front of us, looking tired and rumpled. I briefly wonder what happened to him between last night and now, but when he opens his mouth to speak I remember why I don't really like him - he's far too charming for his own good. He thinks he's God's gift to women, and he's just not. He may have had women falling all over themselves to do his bidding his whole life, but I'm not ever going to be one of them. I hope Callie isn't one of them either. I actually hate him a little for all the things that I'm sure have come so easily to him that I've had to fight for by virtue of my gender - and for the easy interaction and familiar relationship he so clearly shares with the woman beside me.**

**"Morning ladies." That smarmy smile is back and I'm certain that I never want to see it directed at me again. I know it's ridiculous to dislike him as intensely as I do, when really, he's been nothing but courteous to me. He's bought me drinks, we've shared a game of darts, we've had surgeries together and he's never really been anything but friendly towards me. A little unprofessional and flirtatious, yes, and I've heard rumors that he's interested in any woman who can walk, but I've never seen any evidence of that, The main reason I don't like him is the bond he has with Callie. I don't know what their relationship is, but I'm jealous of him. I'm jealous of a plastic surgeon. That's an emotion I never thought I would have.**

**"Case in point." I don't feel bad about it. He has no idea what we're laughing about, and Callie is laughing with me, almost as hard as she did last night. She's so free with her laughter and it lightens my mood to hear it. We step past Mark out of the elevator, and I notice the odd, almost apologetic glance she throws him as we do. I don't want to overanalyze it, but I need to know what it is that's between them. I need to know so that I don't make a fool of myself when I make the move on Callie that I'm increasingly sure I will.**

**"What's so funny?" Sloan yells after us and I'm pleased to note that she doesn't look back at him either. She touches me lightly on the arm as we continue down the hall together, readying ourselves for what's sure to be another busy day.**

**"You're not a people person either, huh?"**

**"Not really. I was, once, but now I pretty much just have Mark and my parents. And you, I hope" There's a note in her voice that I can't quite read, and the idea of her having me is far too enjoyable, but I shake it off.**

**"That's weird."**

**"Why?"**

**"You seem so open. Most non-people people are kind of... closed off."**

**"Like you?" She's teasing, I can tell from her tone, but that still hurts a little. I know my walls are high and nigh on impenetrable, but I've let her see through them already. I can feel the foundations beginning to crumble and I want to let her inside, more than I've ever wanted anything before, Anything personal, I mean. I want her in my life, and I'm not sure I care how. That's a lie. I do care... much, much more than I should. I'm scaring myself with the intensity of this pull I have towards her.**

**"Ouch."**

**"Sorry. I'm a sucker for punishment I guess. I can't help but want to believe that people will surprise me one day."  She surprises me with every turn. I think I understand her, and then she's not what I expected at all. We were pessimists together last night, and now she's behaving like the eternal optimist. She's a puzzle that I'd love to solve, but I think I could spend my whole life trying and never quite understand her.**

**I spot Yang and Stevens at the end of the corridor and groan. Perky and Kiss Ass, just what I need today. I definitely drank a little too much last night and the slight throbbing in my head threatens to become the pounding of a sledgehammer as I contemplate the prospects of a day with either of them. Callie hears my groan and follows my gaze. "You don't like them?"**

**"You do?"**

**"Not Stevens. But Yang's okay. I lived with her for a while."**

**"Why?"**

**She laughs. "I don't know really. We're not friends. We can tolerate each other I guess, and neither of us wanted to be alone." I can't  
imagine Callie not having people flocking to be by her side. There's something about her that should intrigue anyone.**

**"Well, if I have to deal with either of them today, I'm gonna need a drink later. Want to get together?" My heart is pounding wildly in my chest and my palms are sweaty. I'm cool on the surface, but underneath I'm panicking. I didn't expect to ask that. I didn't expect to be so terrified of her answer either.**

**"Just you and me?" I can't read her tone.**

**"Yeah."**

**"Sure. Joe's?"**

**I cringe at the idea of running into any of our co-workers on what I'm realizing will be a prelude to a date. The test run, so to speak. "No. Meet me in the lobby after your shift and we'll go from there?"**

**"I'm all yours, Erica. Seven okay?" Did I mention that I really like the way she says my name?**

**"Seven's great." We're getting close to the end of the hall now and I can make out the sound of Yang and Stevens arguing about something. If it's who's on my service, neither of them will be. I'm sick of them playing games and trading places and thinking that they have a right to be here. They're junior residents, and Yang may have been favorite under the previous head of Cardio, but she's not favorite with me. And not just because she slept with Burke to get ahead. This is serious and they're still learning, yet they swan around like they're the saviors of medicine. They challenge the decisions of attendings every chance they get, and what's worse is that Webber lets them do it. I won't have it though, and as head of Cardio I'm entitled to decide that they aren't allowed anywhere near my patients, which they seem to forget.**

**"Good luck playing babysitter." Callie flashes me a grin as she heads towards the Ortho wing and I'm floating on air even as I dread the day ahead. However much I have to deal with from these two idiots, I'll get through the day without wanting to slap some sense into the idiots that somehow got into a program as challenging as Seattle Grace's but can't deal with their personal lives on their personal time, knowing that I have something to look forward to at the end of the day.**

**I'm mulling over ideas of where to take her when I reach the bickering duo.  Given a choice of the two of them, I'll take the simpering, emotionally-involved idiot over the irritating, know-it-all idiot. Lesser of two evils.**

**"Stevens. Elizabeth Archer's chart."**

**She doesn't jump to attention like usual and I just hope that this isn't another emotional breakdown that's going to result in one form of trauma or another that takes the attention of her supposed-doctor friends. Or that I'll have to deal with in the middle of surgery.**

**"Yang has it. You two have fun." Stevens turns her back. and before I can tell her that I don't care what drama she has going on, when she's in the hospital she has a job to do, so she'd better do it, Yang's leapt forward. She's always so damn eager, like I was 10 years ago, but I am certain I was never anywhere near as annoying as her. While she’s busy telling me that Stevens isn’t a cardiothoracic surgeon and that she’s a “rock star”, I’m busy looking around for a resident - any resident - to save me from the day of irritation that will develop if I’m forced to have Yang on my service.**

**It’s not just about my irritation, though. It’s about the fact that she spends so much time in Cardio that her other surgery skills are lacking. She behaves as though the only organ she will ever see is a heart and that’s not true. Even once she has actually chosen a specialty, officially, the heart is not all she will see. She knows more than the other residents where my specialty is concerned, but that’s exactly why the others need to be on my service more than she does.  **

**Spotting Karev, I breathe a silent sigh of relief. “Karev, are you a rock star?” **

**“Always.”  **

**I take the chart from Yang handing it off to the man who might well be my favorite junior resident. He seems to bring his personal issues into the hospital far less than the others, and his tendency to question me is less than Yang’s.**

**“You’re with me today. Congratulations. Your life just got more interesting.” **

**I head off down the hall, both of them following me. Yang’s persistent, I’ll give her that, and it will serve her in good stead once she’s fully qualified. In Cardio, you can’t give up, even when it looks like a lost cause. The heart is an amazing organ, more resilient and yet more fragile than most. Sometimes, it takes patience and determination to get a heart to beat again, even when it looks like there’s no hope. My first surgery here proved that. I think his name was Denny-something and the other surgeons were looking for me to call it when the donor heart didn’t start beating quickly enough for them - but it did beat. I had faith. I still have faith.  **

**I’m barely listening to Yang’s attempts to change my mind, instead running a list of places that I could take Callie tonight through my mind. Barely listening is enough to respond to her though.  **

**“Karev doesn’t know anything about Elizabeth Archer.”  **

**“You can read can’t you Karev?” There’s a hint of mocking in my tone, and I know it. Yang has to learn. That’s my job here, and learning doesn’t just encompass learning about surgery. It means learning to accept the decisions of a superior. I had to do it. We all had to do it at some point. If we just had our favorite surgeries handed to us on a silver platter, we wouldn’t learn determination, or persistence. We wouldn’t get better: there’d be nothing to push us towards better.  **

**I hear Karev fumbling with the chart before he responds and I can sense Yang’s irritation with what she perceives to be his inferiority. She needs to learn to respect her fellow surgeons. She is the best, but that doesn’t mean the others aren’t good. They just weren’t the favorites. If Karev, or Grey or even O’Malley had been Burke’s favorite, they would be better than her. She’s better because she’s had more chances than the others. It’s only fair that I even it up.  **

**Karev reels off the patient’s information, but Yang jumps in with the details of her condition and I can’t help but scoff. We reach the patient’s room and I glance through the window, noticing something that Yang didn’t. I turn at the door, noting the look of long-suffering on Karev’s face, and the longing for praise on Yang’s.  **

**“While I admire your preparation, Dr. Yang, there’s one thing about the patient that you failed to notice.” I swing the door open. “She’s gone.”  **

**I leave them there sputtering, knowing that they’ll do everything they can to find my patient without me having to tell them to. There’s something to be said for my reputation when it means that the doctors below me on the pecking order will jump to do what they think is my bidding.  **

**Slipping into my office and closing the door, I sink into my chair, my head in my hands as I try to sort through my muddled thoughts. My mind has been half on Callie all morning, and I need to push her out of it. The problem is, she's all I want to think about, despite the surgeries I have planned and the traumas that are almost certain to take over my schedule. Gathering all the professionalism I can, I turn to the mountain of paperwork awaiting me. I don't hate the bureaucratic aspect of medicine as much as some of my colleagues - and I'm sure Callie is amongst them - but it's never top of my to do list. Right now though, I'm thankful for the mind-numbing work.**

*******

**It feels like forever, but it's only twenty minutes before Karev pages me to say that Bailey found my patient and she's safely back in her room. I'm not sure that twenty minutes was really long enough for the Dr. Hahn mask to slip fully back into place, but the lure of surgery helps focus me. It takes me less that five minutes to stride back to Ms Archer's room, praying the whole time that I don't bump into Callie. When I get there, I find Bailey settling the woman back into her bed whilst Karev and Yang loiter in the doorway. I assume that, if Bailey is letting them do nothing, she has a reason for it, so I don't bark at Karev to help and for Yang to go away, choosing instead to focus on the very real heart problem that will kill this woman if we don't get her into surgery soon. Standing in place at the foot of the bad, I try my best not to scoff at the conversation.**

**  
"So, you're a faith healer?"**

**"I'm a healer and I have faith, but I'm not sure the two are related." This is just completely absurd. In my younger, more naive days, I may have been willing to take the chance that this woman is right, that there's some reality to her assertions, but at this point, I don't think that there's anything I haven't seen. It's not cynicism, it's realism. The last person I heard talk about faith healing refused surgery and died because I allowed her to explore her delusion. I refuse to let that happen again.**

**"Ms Archer, you collapsed. You could go into cardiac arrest at any moment. So, I'm less interested in what you do for a living than I am with getting you into-"**

**"Wait, I wanna know what she did to Mr. Greenwald. I mean, he's been in and out of V-Tach all day and now he's stable."**

**I don't have time for this. Bailey can ask her questions once my patient isn't in imminent danger of coding. I don't care what she wants to talk about after I make sure that this woman doesn't die.**

**"Maybe because of the Amiodarone he got two hours ago." If I sound dismissive, it's probably because I am. Medicine will either save Mr. Greenwald's life or it won't. It will either save Ms Archer's life or it won't. It's black and white and Bailey - who is the closest person other than me to a consummate professional this hospital has - should know better.**

**"Really? Does Amiodarone usually take two hours to kick in?"**

**Trying to keep the frustration out of my voice, I ignore the question. "Ms Archer. You have a coronary artery dissection. Dr Karev and I need to get you into surgery as soon as possible."**

**"I appreciate that, Dr Hahn, but I am not going into surgery until we've exhausted all the other possibilities."**

**What does this woman not understand? There are no other possibilities. Without this surgery, she will die. I don't know whether it will be in the next hour or the next day or even the next week, but it will be soon.**

**"Ms Archer. If you don't have the surgery soon, I can guarantee you that the blood supply to your heart will be cut off and I'll have to open you up anyway." I leave it unspoken that her chances of survival will drop drastically if she lets that happen, but I think that my tone carries that it would be unpleasant.**

**She' s not listening. "All I'm asking for is that you give me some time and talk me through the surgery that you'd like to perform so that I may visualize it while I do what I do. And if it doesn't work, then you can slice me open. Okay?"**

**A combination of Bailey's glare and the fact that I have patients to check up on that actually want to live makes me acquiesce. "Dr. Karev can work with you doing whatever it is that you do. I'll check in soon." I turn to leave, muttering "Call me when she codes" to Karev as I leave.**

**I'm not at all surprised that Yang follows me.**

*******

**I've managed to shake Yang off and I'm walking out of my last Post-Op's room when I see Callie standing by the nurses' station, chart in hand. She takes my breath away, and the feeling only intensifies when she looks up and offers me a brilliant smile. There's a slightly harassed look in her eyes and I couldn't not go to her if I tried.**

**"Coffee?" she asks when I reach her.**

**"Less than an hour in and you need coffee already, Torres? Are you really a doctor?"**

**She slaps me playfully on the shoulder and I glare at her, horribly aware than no one has ever gotten away with even attempting that before. Clearly, where she's concerned, my glare isn't as deadly as normal, because she actually giggles at me.**

**"If you turn down caffeine, I'll have to reconsider your credentials. Who knows when the next opportunity will be?"**

**"Well, when you put it that way..."**

**She puts the chart on the station behind her without looking, and loops her arm through mine as we head towards the cafeteria. I'm sure my heart actually stops beating at the contact.**

**"I hope your day's going better than mine is."**

**"My patient thinks she'll heal a coronary dissection with the power of her mind, but other than that stunning stupidity, it's fine. I've got Karev with me, so I don't have to deal with either of the annoying twins. What's wrong with your morning?"**

**"George's mother is here."**

**I'm confused. I don't really understand what that has to do with her.**

**"O'Malley? Why?"**

**"I don't know, really. She just- You know what, I don't think you want to know."**

**I let her drop the subject, reluctant to sound too interested in every little detail of her life. Although, I desperately want to know every little detail of her life.**

**"So, a faith healer, huh? That's... different."**

**"Try delusional."**

**"She's just scared. I can understand that. Did you try telling her that you're the best surgeon this hospital has?"**

**I feel incredibly proud to hear her say that, but I try to play it off, hoping that she hears the laughter in my question. "This hospital?"**

**"Sorry. America." She bumps her hip against mine and I pretend to stumble as she smiles at me.**

**"Much better."**

*******

**There's a spring in my step as Callie and I go our separate ways after a not-so-quick cup of coffee. We ended up standing on the breezeway watching the hospital move below us, as she asked me question after question about my life. I played some things close to my chest, but I'm still certain that I've opened up more to Callie Torres in the last 24 hours than I've opened up to anyone in a long time. My mood drops immediately when I see Mark Sloan wheeling Ms. Archer towards me, frustration on his face.**

**"Dr. Sloan, why are you endangering the life of my patient?" I'm probably being harsher than I need to be, but I don't really like him. It's not really his fault, just his attitude and the fact that he's so obviously a member of the Old Boys Network that I can't penetrate, no matter how skilled I am.**

**"Because your patient had her hands all over one of my patients." I should have known really. Karev and I need to keep this woman in her room before the Chief finds out that she's wandering around the hospital trying to heal people.**

**"She had a staff infection. I was trying to heal her." I sigh inwardly at the insanity that seems to be drawn to this hospital. Things are never straight-forward here, there's always something. **

**"Don't worry your pretty little head about it Sloan." I spot Karev nearby and call for him. He's been trained well, because he jumps to my side straight away.**

**Sloan jumps on the bait the way I knew he would. "Do you notice that even when you're insulting me, you manage to tell me how pretty I am?"**

**"It wasn't meant as a compliment." But we both already knew that.**

**"Is this a gender reversal thing with you, where you're the big man on campus and I'm the hot blonde who's ponytail you can't stop pulling?"**

** Whilst I'm sure it seems like he's just being Sloan to the others around us, I know what he's really doing. He's prodding me, taunting me, hoping that I'll say something to confirm his suspicions. I don't really know what the purpose is, but I'll play along with him. We can play this game in circles for all I care. I'll let him keep his man-whore reputation, shoot him down to keep my own and we'll probably never put words to the fact that we're posturing, we're competing over Callie and we're the only ones who know it. To everyone else, this is him and me the way they expect us to be.**

**"Why don't you get that I just don't like you? That I think you are a crass, predatory, ape of a man who just happens to be a decent surgeon?"**

**I know I've hit a nerve when he turns to Elizabeth Archer, a frown on his face. "Wanna heal someone? Heal her." He inclines his head in my direction, challenging me with his body language. I'm not entirely sure what he meant by that, but I don't like it. I'm saved from coming up with a retort though as he turns and walks away.**

**My patient is getting on my last nerve when she looks up at me and Karev. "This is really toxic in here. Could somebody take me back to my room? My healing team should be arriving soon." She's not giving up on that yet? I can't understand it, but I don't suppose I have to. If she won't consent to the surgery, there's nothing I can do until she codes.**

**Karev does as he's expected to. "I'll take you."**

**He wheels her away and I'm left to find something else to do. There's nothing urgent that I'm aware of, so I slip into the nearest on call room to try and figure out where I'm taking Callie. She kept asking while we were having coffee, and I think she's built it up to be something amazing in her mind because I refused to tell her. I don't think it's even occurred to her that I don't have the slightest idea.  **


	3. Chapter 3

By the time I'm paged 911 to the OR,  I've figured out the perfect place to take Callie. I push tonight to the corner of my mind as I enter the OR corridor though, knowing that whatever trauma awaits me, I can't let my infatuation with the Orthopedic Surgeon interfere.  I love traumas, especially when I'm struggling to focus on medicine. They have a way of grounding me in the moment and they force all other things from my mind. It's these situations that are the true measure of a surgeon. There's no time for preparation, just reaction, and if we're not at the top of our game, the patients will - and frequently do - suffer. I don't think it's boasting to say that I'm good at this. I'm in my element amongst the chaos of an emergency and it's the one place that I can trust my instincts to never let me down.

I'm not expecting what I'm greeted with though. Bailey is inconsolable, and several of my colleagues are gathered around a toddler on the table. Webber looks harried and, as Bailey steps forward, I understand why. The little boy on the table must be Bailey's son. I've never met him, but I'm not good with children, so that's probably a good thing. I've heard a lot about him from others, but never much from Bailey except for the occasional complaint that she's missing time with him. Like me, I think Bailey prefers to keep the personal away from the professional, and I respect her for that. Now though, she's trying to be a doctor when she needs to be a mother and I see Richard struggling to keep her at bay. Meredith Grey seems to be on baby-sitting duty, and I join Webber in the scrub room, taking the films he hands me. I can feel the tension in the air that always occurs when the patient is one of our own. Looking at the films, I mentally prepare myself for the procedures that will be needed to fix the multiple problems this kid has. His colon is in his chest cavity and is surrounded by fluid, which could mean that the thoracic aorta repair he needs is compromised by fecal matter escaping from the colon, which could kill him. We'll also need to repair a diaphragmatic hernia that I assume no one caught when he was born. He's lucky that something like this hasn't happened before. And lucky that his mother works with some of the best surgeons on the West Coast.

I glance at Richard while I scrub in, noting the tension written across his face. He catches me looking.  "What?"

"Nothing. How do you want to do this?"

"As quickly and thoroughly than possible. I don't think I need to tell you that the longer this takes, the harder it will be to keep Miranda outside."

"No, sir."

"I'll need you to help me with the colon before you get to work on the heart issues. I want to make sure that there are no complications here. If we go for the heart first... well, I don't need to tell you."

He doesn't. If we open up his chest enough that I can get to the thoracic artery before we make sure the colon hasn't ruptured, this kid's chances of survival will drop dramatically. His artery hasn't ruptured, so it's not the first priority. We both know though that if we don't do this fairly quickly, his cardiac status will deteriorate, and 15% of deaths in MVAs are caused by thoracic aorta issues such as Tucker's. There's good reason for the tension that swirls around us as we head into the OR together.

***

We're about a third of the way through the surgery and everything is going well when, shortly after we've given the older Grey an update for Bailey, Bailey herself barges through the doors and into the OR. Grey is behind her, ineffectively trying to pull her back into the hallway.  We all look up in shock, and I glance at Richard briefly, hoping that he will take charge of the situation. He doesn't. I stop examining the media steinum, freezing with my scalpel just above the incision.

" Dr. Bailey, are you kidding?" I'm incredulous and I know it's clear in my voice. I know Bailey knows better than this. She's a mother, and I understand her fears, but she's also a surgeon and she should understand that this is the last thing we need.

"I need to be with my son." I feel for her, I do. Her words are laced with pain and worry but she needs to leave.

"Miranda." Webber is blind when it comes to her, and he's completely unable to put any kind of authority into his words. It's a lame attempt at gaining control, and I'm sure he's aware of it.

"I have no intention of getting in the way. I just can't stand out there. I can't. I need to be with my son."

I cast another look at Richard and see the helplessness on his face. I have to take charge here, even though it's not my job. "And what we need, Dr. Bailey, is to not have our patient's mother watching us perform his surgery. Dr. Grey, please escort Dr. Bailey back outside."

Grey reaches for Bailey's arm, but Bailey shakes her off. I know they're all fond of Miranda. I like her too, but someone has to stand up to her now, and it's clear that I'm the only option. Webber won't. He's blind to Bailey's mistakes because she's his favorite. He doesn't even try to hide it.

"You can proceed." She's stubborn and I respect that, but there's no one in the world more stubborn than I am.

"I will not proceed until you leave this OR. Now, do you want me to stand here talking to you, or do you want me to try and save your baby's life?"

We glare at each other for what seems like an eternity, and I can see in her eyes that, because of this moment, she doesn't like me, and she never will. I know it's harsh, but I also know it's the right thing to do. It's the only thing we can do. She can't be in here right now, however much she feels she needs to be.

Once again, Richard tries to take charge and fails. "Miranda." At least this time, he sounds more determined.

"I just wanna hold my son's hand. I just wanna hold his hand." She's slowly losing control and I know that if something goes wrong now, all Hell will break lose. I keep my hand steady, ready to continue, but I won't move until she leaves.

To my surprise, Yang is the one who steps in now, the one who offers exactly what Bailey needs. "I'll hold his hand." Yang looks up at me, questioningly. "Dr. Grey can hold this protractor, right?"

 I'm thrown. She's the last person I would expect to essentially give up a surgery, to react with compassion and humanity to someone else's plight. Maybe there's hope for her yet. The soft voice of the intern Grey agrees, and we all look at Bailey, hoping that she'll cooperate.

"I'll hold Tuck's hand, Dr. Bailey, if it's okay with you. I'll hold his- I'll hold his hand." Yang's voice shows her concern and Bailey gazes at her for a long moment, reading her sincerity.

There's so many reasons that Cristina Yang gets to me so much. She reminds me to much of myself. She's irritating and approval-needy. She believes she has a God-given right to forever be on my service because she was Burke's favorite. And she reminds me far too much of my ex-girlfriend. That last one shouldn't make a difference, but if I'm honest, it does. Just a little. It's the mannerisms and the constant begging for my attention. It drives me insane. But right now, I have a new found respect for her. Maybe she does understand that, while surgery is important, it shouldn't be the most important thing in the world to you all the time.

"Okay. Go." Relief. "Go. Go." And impatience. She wants to get through this just as much as we do, and knowing that her son isn't alone in here seems to reassure Bailey as she turns to leave.

Now Richard steps in where we needed him before. "Okay everybody, let's get back to work."

Yang strips off her gloves, handing the protractor to Lexie and taking Tuck's hand. She leans in to whisper to him that she's here, that he's not alone, that he doesn't need to be scared. I watch Bailey leave, concerned about her despite the fact that she doesn't think I am. It's just a moment, and then I turn back to the surgery, shutting down my emotions and focusing once more on what needs to be done.

***

The rest of the surgery passes in relative ease, and I lose myself in the familiar routine of mending what's broken; of scalpel and stitches and knowing what's right without having to think about it. It's so different from the person I am outside of the OR, outside of the hospital. I've repaired the artery and Webber is checking that the abdominal issues are resolved.

"The stomach's repaired, there's no splenic laceration." I hear the relief in his voice and it echoes through my body. Contrary to popular belief, I do care about these people. I couldn't do this without caring about them. I just need to disassociate when I'm operating because emotional entanglements are messy things and absolutely the last thing anyone needs in an operating room.

"Now all I have to do is get the chest tube in and we're done." I think I keep the relief out of my own words, but it doesn't change the fact that it's there.

I listen as Yang whispers "That's good, Tuck. That means you're in better shape than we thought. Means you're almost outta here."

"Dr. Yang, would you like to do the honors?" I look at her, hoping that she'll say no. Hoping that the human side of her that I'm seeing for the first time is going to stay around for a little while. I like her much better this way. Grey offers to trade places with her, and I cringe inside. Grey needs to learn to disassociate more, before we have another Stevens on our hands, but Yang? Well, the human side of surgery is what she needs to learn more than anything else. I stare at my Cardio-Surgeon wannabe, trying to figure out what she's thinking. She appears torn.

"No, I'm okay. I'm okay here." Despite the yearning she has to operate, she does the right thing, and I feel oddly proud as I nod at her, just slightly. I know the human side of medicine isn't what she's learned from me because I rarely show it, but her potential to be great has just grown in my mind.

***

We wrap up the surgery and Cristina accompanies Tuck and some nurses to a post-op room, while Richard and I scrub out together. The tension from earlier is gone, replaced by a numbing relief, but I know that we still have to talk to the parents, and while Richard might be comfortable in the moment, I dread talking to Bailey. I'm sure there's going to be Hell to pay for kicking her out of the OR, and that I'm going to carry the blame because he was too much of a wimp to stand up to her. I honestly don't know how this man became Chief of Surgery at times. He doesn't have any ability to instill discipline amongst his surgeons as far as I can see. I distract myself with thoughts of Callie as we head down to face Bailey and her husband. I'm happier than I've ever been about having plans after work, because I really am going to need that drink after the day I've had. I just hope she likes the place I've chosen as much as I think she will.

Once again, I have to force Callie out of my mind as Bailey and her husband spot us and head towards us frantically.

"So, the surgery went well." I'm looking Bailey in the eye as I say it, and I see the anger and worry in her gaze cloud over in relief. "However, there is a lot of fluid in the chest cavity, so at this point we have no way of knowing whether he'll be able to breathe on his own any time soon."

Despite the fact that she must know I'm explaining this more for her husband than for her, Bailey seems to take that personally. "I know that. You don't think I know that?" Great, a combative Bailey. I might not have been here long, but I've been here long enough to know that that's never a good thing.

This time though, Richard does step in, seeming to know that she's being deliberately difficult. "We'll be moving him to the pediatric ICU. We'll be watching him closely. "

"Can I see my son now?" The worry has clearly taken its toll on Bailey's husband, and he seems to be the kind of person that needs to see something for himself before he can truly believe it. I'm hoping that Miranda will need to see for herself as well and that this confrontation can be delayed, but I'm out of luck

As Richard says "Absolutely" and leads the concerned man down to see his son, it looks like Bailey will follow them, and for a moment, I'm almost breathing a sigh of relief. But then Bailey stops, turning to me. I steel myself, knowing that whatever she's going to say, it's probably going to be as harsh as she judged me to be earlier. She must understand that I had to do it, but she's clearly not going to forgive me.

"You're new here. You don't know me. And if what you did today ends up saving my son's life, I'll thank you for it." This isn't really the reaction I was expecting, but I realize she's not finished as she takes a breath. "But if I never have to look at you again after that? That'll be alright with me."

Her words hit home and they hurt. I know I have the reputation of an ice queen, but it's just a cover. Underneath that, I'm still human. I'm still just flesh and blood. I still have feelings, and it's still possible to hurt them. I hide it well, but I can't change the fact that it's still possible to hurt me. Believe me, I've wished I could. I watch Bailey stride away from me,  her head held high. I did the right thing today. I did what had to be done. If she had stayed in the OR, we would have been distracted. We could have missed something. We could have failed. It was the right thing to do. So why doesn't telling myself that help?

I head to the locker room, my eyes fixed on the floor. Which is why, this time, I don't notice Callie immediately. It doesn't take me long to feel someone beside me, but I don't want to know who it is that's seeing me like this, so I don't look up. I'm hoping it's her though, so when I step into the room and she speaks, I'm relieved. She's only person in this hospital that I want to be here in this moment.

"Erica?" I look up, and her expression tells me that she sees the defeat in my eyes. I see her struggle to find words before she silently steps forward and pulls me into her arms. I rest my head on her shoulder, my hurt not masking the thrill of being wrapped up in her embrace. I breath her in deeply, wanting to memorize her scent; feeling her rub my back comfortingly. Each second eases the pain a little, and it's not long before I feel like I'm in control of my emotions once more.  I don't want to pull away from her, but I have to. Maybe one day, I won't be afraid of her seeing me as weak, but today isn't that day.

She looks at me, the concern clear in her eyes as I pull off my scrub cap and throw my surgical gown into the bin in the corner of the room. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. The baby's gonna be okay, so, I'm okay."

"You did the right thing." Of course she's heard what happened. I'm sure Grey told her little friends all about it within moments of the surgery ending, which means that it's all over the hospital by now.

"I know."

"It doesn't look like you do." I don't know what to say to that. I don't understand how she knows me so well already, but Callie lets the subject drop, offering me a small smile. I can't help but smile back at her. I like it when she smiles in general, but when she smiles at me, just at me...  it does something to me that I can't explain. I hate that she's burrowed her way into my body so quickly. If this doesn't turn out the way I so want it to, I don't know what I'll do.

"So you wanna tell me where we're going tonight?" After what I'm sure she's heard about me, I'm surprised she still wants to go, but I won't question it. I'll just be thankful.

"Nope." I smirk at her. Apparently, now I actually could answer the question, I'm smug about it. That pout I saw last night makes a reappearance, and I smile widely at her now as I pull my hair out of the scruffy bun I scraped it into for surgery. My smile turns into a frown as I try and fail to untangle a stubborn pin. It won't come loose and she steps into my body from behind, trailing her hands through my hair as she helps me. I barely hold back the moan as her nails scratch lightly on my scalp, and all I can see is the image of hands tangled in hair as she melts into a kiss. I'm not going to play that hand just yet though, and I sigh in relief as she steps away, the pin held out in front of her.

"Not even a clue?"

"You'll like it."

"I don't think you can know that."

"Oh, but I do." I leave her standing behind me as I pull on my white jacket and head back into the madness. Time to try again  
with Ms. Archer.

***

I had planned to try and convince Ms. Archer - again - that she needs this surgery, but when I get there, she's gone, so instead, I find myself yelling at Karev.

"Karev! Where is my patient?"

"I don't know."

"Why the Hell don't you know? You had one job. Just one. And you screwed up!" I know I'm probably going to extremes, but I need to clear my head, and surgery is the only way I know to do that. Luckily for me, I've got the one resident that's not afraid to yell back on my service today. The emotions need to come out somehow, and Alex is the only one of them who's strong enough to take it and not need months of mollycoddling afterwards before he can get back up and keep going.

"The Chief took her somewhere! You wanna yell at Bailey. Go yell at Bailey! Good luck, but yell at Bailey. Don't take it out on me."

"The Chief took her? Great." I'm not sure what that means. He could have decided that she can't be in the hospital because it is, after all, bad for business to have a woman running around telling our patients that they don't need surgery to get better. Not to mention the lawsuits that would flood in from bereaved families when their beloved mother or brother or aunt goes home and dies because we didn't give them the medical help they need. Or, he could have some crazy, hare-brained scheme that involves Elizabeth Archer's delusion that she can heal people with some divine intervention. Neither is an attractive option.

I don't apologize to Karev before I storm away. He can take it, and apologizing - showing your weakness - is never a good thing to do around your subordinates. It doesn't take me long to find Ms. Archer. What seems to be all my colleagues are gathered around Bailey's son's room, and I briefly wonder how many patients are dying right now because they've all decided that watching whatever goes on inside is more important than actually being doctors.

Looking through the window into the room, I see my patient, Bailey and her husband hovering over the broken child in the bed. I realize that all my colleagues are looking for proof that there's something more, and despite myself, I join them. Sometimes we all need to believe in something more powerful than us. I don't watch the "healing" though. I watch Callie. More than anything, I want to believe in her.

I stare at her for a long time, looking away only when I feel someone's eyes on me. It's not Callie, although she has glanced my way a few times and I don't know who would want to gaze at me as intently as I'm gazing at her. I turn, finding Mark looking at me with almost the same intensity that I've been watching the woman we have in common. I'm sure that he loves her, even though I still don't know her feelings for him. And I'm almost certain that he suspects that I have motives other than friendship towards her. Our eyes lock and I can't read the expression on his face. I wish I could, because I think that it could tell me everything I've been wondering about the two of them. She's barely mentioned him when we've been together, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. I'm floundering, and I've never, ever been this lost when it comes to women. He doesn't stop looking at me, studying me. It's making uncomfortable, so with one more glance towards the beautiful Latina, I walk away.

***

I stride into the lobby, almost walking on air despite the challenges of my day. This is where I find out if Callie could ever return the feelings I have for her. Or really, whether she would. After her shiver as I whispered in her ear last night, I already know that she could. I'm as dressed up as I could manage on the limited supplies I keep in the hospital. I don't exactly make a habit of mixing my private life with the professional, so it was a challenge, but after thinking about it for a while, I've finally found a combination of hair, make up and clothes that I feel comfortable wearing around Callie. She's not here yet, but Mark is waiting for the elevator. We look at each other for a long moment before I slap my umbrella against my hand and walk over to him. He turns fully towards me, and I don't think either of us knows what to say.

I open the conversation that neither one of us wants to have. "Here's the thing. You're too pretty."

"Oh, come on."

"No. It makes it hard to respect you as a surgeon, but I have to do better. You're not such a bad guy, when it comes down to it, and if I want to be a part of Callie's life, I have to be civil with you. Clearly she likes you, and if I don't understand why... that's my problem. So-" I don't finish the thought, because I don't know what to follow up with. I'm saying that if he's with Callie, or if she chooses him rather than me... I'll accept it. I won't like it, but I'll accept it. Once again, we're talking in code about the woman who is the only true link the two of us have.

There's a second of silence and then Callie steps off of the very elevator that Mark was waiting for. She must see the tension between us, but she doesn't address it. She just shoots Sloan a smile, then turns to me, saying "Oh, hey. You ready?" I love the lightness in her voice, the hint of excitement. She wants to spend time with me and it's crazy how good that makes me feel.

"I am."

I run my eyes over her body, noting the reaction she instills in me. I definitely approve of the tight jeans she's wearing. They make her ass look amazing, and I so badly want to run my hands across it. I clench them tightly, my fingernails digging into my palm and bringing me back to reality as I turn to leave, seeing Callie throw Mark another one of those unreadable looks as I do. I'm afraid to look at her for too long, afraid to let them see just what she does to me.

Mark calls after us, "Where you guys going? You going to Joe's? I'll come meet you." I want to read worry in his tone, but I can't. I don't know what to think. It's frustrating, and if I don't figure this out soon, I may well go insane. Callie turns, keeping pace with me but walking backwards as she shrugs at him. I'm inordinately glad that I didn't tell her where we're heading. I don't know if she'd have told him anyway, but this way, she can't, and that's definitely a good thing. It wouldn't be much of a trial date with Sloan tagging along.

I barely bother looking back, knowing that I've won this battle. It may only be a default win again, a result of the fact that she has no idea where we're going, but I'll take any win I can right now. "Goodnight, Dr. Sloan."

We step out of the hospital, and Callie immediately slips her arm through mine again. She's not afraid to touch me and I love that about her. I usually have to think about those little touches before I do it, but Callie seems completely at ease with physical contact. She's not afraid to touch people, on a real or metaphorical level. I've seen her put patients at ease with a joke or a smile, and that's a skill I wish I had. There's laughter in her tone as she asks me, "So, Dr. Hahn, where are we going?"

I laugh openly at her curiosity, confident that she'll love the restaurant I'm taking her to. "You'll see." I pull out my phone to call a cab, effectively cutting off her chance to ask further questions. I know it wouldn't take much coaxing for me to tell her everything, and I want this to be a surprise. I thought long and hard about the venue and I think that this one will be perfect. I long to see joy and shock on her face when she realizes that I do, in fact, know her quite well already.

Here we go.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm glad it's dark in the cab as we head over to the restaurant: with Callie's scent surrounding me, I'm flashing back to my dream at the most inopportune of moments. As Callie's asking me how my day went, I'm thinking about the feather-softness of her lips and wondering if she would feel as good in my arms in reality. As she tells me about her own, I'm recalling the weight of her breasts in my palms, the way the curves of her hips flowed under my hands like silk. I know I need to stop this, to return to the real world; the world where I don't know if Callie would even be vaguely interested, but the more I try to stay in the moment with her, the more I notice. My cheeks are flushed as I study the lines of her face, and my hands are itching to reach out and stroke her skin.

"Hey, where are you?" Her voices draws me out of another dreamy moment, this time about my hands tangled in her hair.

"Nowhere. You were talking about Tuck. I'm glad he's going to be okay."

"Me too. Bailey's a great mother. And a great doctor. She doesn't deserve to suffer for either of those things."

"People rarely deserve being in the hospital, Callie. It's just... life."

"I empathize with her. I don't know what I'd have done."

She probably wouldn't have been so harsh to the people who were trying to save her son's life, I think. I don't say it though. "Can we not talk about the hospital?"

Callie tilts her head as she studies me in the dim light, her eyes searching mine. I don't know what she sees in them, and I can't hold her gaze for long. The things she does to me without even trying are overwhelming, and I'm forced to look away before I do something stupid.

***

In the restaurant, Callie immediately turns to what I knew she would - the paper and crayons they provide. It makes me want to giggle in the smitten, girly way I so hate to watch grown women do. I guess now, I understand why they do it.

I've only been to 94 Stewart once before. A colleague at Seattle Pres suggested it the one and only time my parents have visited me in Seattle. I broke their hearts that trip. but the restaurant was exactly as expected. Small and friendly, with good food and better wine - and the childish side that I knew would appeal to Callie. It works for me too, because this is definitely not the kids kind of place.

"I love this place." Her voice shakes me from my thoughts.

"You do?" I'm a little disappointed that I haven't taken her anywhere new, but inordinately proud that I managed to pick somewhere that she likes.

"Just the once. George hated it and I've never managed to find the time to come back."

"George?"

"Yeah. We dated. Surely you've heard the story?"

"You and O'Malley dated?"

"Don't act so shocked. It was a disaster."

"I'm not acting! I thought he and Stevens had a 'forever love'?" There's disdain in my voice. I'm sick to death of Stevens and her relationship with O'Malley. She talks about how perfect their relationship is so much that I have to doubt how wonderful it really is. It doesn't surprise me that he and Callie were a disaster though, and weird as though it may sound, it raises my  hopes. George is barely a man, and so much like the few men I dated before; I embraced the fact that I have only ever wanted to date women and it makes me wonder even more about her.

"That's what she thinks. It's why I don't like her though. and how I wound up living with Cristina for a while."

"Want to tell me how that happened?" It's one of the things I've been wondering most about all day. How did two people who are such polar opposites - especially in how they relate to me - manage to share living space without killing each other?

"You'll have to buy me a drink first." She glances up from whatever it is she's drawing, laughter shining in her eyes.

As if he heard her, our server appears. Callie orders a gin and tonic before turning back to her doodling, while I pour over the wine list, eventually picking the Charbono that I've rarely seen since the last time I was welcome to visit my parents in Napa. As the waiter walks away, Callie tosses her drawing across the table at me. It's a stick figure with blonde hair laying on the beach, an arrow pointing to it that labels the "person" as "Erica." I laugh at her.

"Tell me about California?"

"You haven't been?"

"No, I have. I want to know what it was like for you, growing up there."

"Can't believe I'm a California girl, huh?"

"Not really. I had you pegged for New York, or maybe the Midwest. I can't see you as a beach bunny."

"I wasn't. Not all of California is beaches. I grew up in wine country. It was the only thing I liked about California. I got out of there as soon as I could."

"Do you ever visit?" Her question is innocent and I know she has no idea about the mixture of emotions she's just inspired. I shove them back down, wanting to enjoy being here with her. The last thing I want to do is talk about the reasons I don't go back to Napa.

"It's been a while. I'm too busy, you know? How about you, do you visit Miami often?"

Callie smiles ruefully. "It's been a while for me too. My parents come to Seattle all the time, but I don't get many chances to go back home. I wish I could visit more though. I miss the beach."

"So you were a beach bunny?" It doesn't surprise me. She has the lightness of spirit that I've always associated with people who love the beach. It's not a bad thing, in her more than anyone else. I want to be more like her. I'm too focused for my own good sometimes.

"Our back yard pretty much WAS the beach." Her smile is bright and beautiful and all the things I'm not, and I know I'm looking at her a little more intensely than I should, but I can't help it. I've never met anyone like her before. I've never met anyone who makes me want this much this quickly. It scares me at the same time as draws me towards her. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to stop.

Over dinner, we talk about anything and everything. I sidestep questions about my family by bringing it back round to hers. She clearly loves to talk about them, and I'm a little jealous of how close they seem to be. She talks about her older brothers and the way they terrorized every guy who tried to come near her in High School. The way she tells it, they didn't have many to terrorize, and I can't understand that. Teenage boys are obviously blind in Florida. My own brother had long left home by the time I was in High School, and honestly, I was such a geek that most of the other kids stayed well away from me. High School was the first place I learned to keep people at a distance. It surprises me that Callie seems to have had a similar academic experience to me, beyond the obvious similarities in our educational choices.

Callie steers us through the conversation, flitting happily from music to politics, from college to our early years as doctors, and finally onto movies. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun.

We giggle our way through dessert as we compare the movies we've seen recently. I don't have much to say on that topic. I can't even remember the last movie I went to see.

"What's your favorite movie?" I'm honestly intrigued. I feel like her answer could tell me a lot. It's the sort of question I've never really cared about before, but I want to know everything where Callie is concerned. I don't think that anything she shares with me could ever be trivial. I raise my eyebrow at her as she looks down at the table for a moment, apparently considering her answer. I don't know if that's because she truly can't decide, or if it's because she's worried about what I'll think.

"Beauty and the Beast." She smiles at me, almost embarrassed, but I don't understand why. It's quite possibly the sweetest thing I've ever heard. What is wrong with me? I don't do sweet and endearing. But as she lowers her gaze, I realize that, apparently, with her, I do.

"You should have seen my face when the Beast takes her to his library. I was so jealous of her. All those books."

There's delight in Callie's eyes. "You were a bookworm, huh?"

"It's okay, you can say it. I was a geek."

"Was?" She smirks at me and I smack her on the shoulder ineffectively. Her eyes twinkle and I smile too. "It's okay, Erica, I'm a geek too. We're doctors. We were all science geeks." She pauses for a second and I can see her doing the math. "You were like, 20 when that film came out though."

"Well, you were 15!"

We laugh at each other, aware how ridiculous we look, but not really caring.

"You clearly already know I'm still a child! You bought me here because they have crayons." I didn't know she'd figured that out. I feel myself flushing, and she leans closer to me across the table, reaching up and running a hand across my cheek. "Yep, definitely blushing." I don't think she intended that to come out as husky as it did if the look on her face is any indication, but I feel the timbre of her voice through every fiber of my being and I instantly miss her touch when she lowers her hand again.

"Want to get out of here?" I'm surprised at my own tone. I know her touch affects me, but my voice is laced with a desire I wasn't expecting to share just yet. Her eyes fix on mine and we sit there, staring, for what seems like a long time. Eventually though, she makes a decision. My heart skips a beat at the look in her eyes.

"Yeah. But I don't want to go home yet."

***

A short while later, we're walking along the waterfront as she tells me quietly about her relationship with George O'Malley and how Izzie Stevens played her part in the destruction of something Callie wanted to be more than it ever turned out to be.

"He told me that Izzie was stacked and I was curvy, and I knew then that we wouldn't work. I knew I'd always take second place to her." I'm shocked by how angry that makes me. How could anybody choose anyone but Callie if given that opportunity? She's everything I've ever dreamed of, and I don't know how to tell her that. The messages she's sent me have been so mixed. She's talked about the men in her past, but she's flirted with me and I can't figure her out.

Looking at her, I see the pain that's still clear in her eyes. "Cal?" She turns her head, meeting my gaze. "Izzie Stevens could never compete with you." My voice is deeper than I was expecting, and I'm terrified that she's going to see everything I'm starting to feel for her, but she just smiles at me and turns away, taking my hand in hers as we continue walking, a comfortable silence enveloping us. I don't know how long we've been walking, but I want this night to last forever.

Her hand feels so right in mine, and I wish I could know what she's thinking. I study her as we walk, and I can't help myself. The lights reflecting off the water; the moon hanging low in the sky; her hand laced with mine; her smile sending shivers racing across my skin...

  

  1. We've walked so far that we're completely alone, and I stare at her for long moments, the tension between us deepening as I absentmindedly lick my lips. Something in Callie's eyes changes as she follows the movement and she swallows hard. 
  



There's nothing I could do to stop myself, even if I wanted to. The wind from the waterfront ruffles her hair and I take a step closer, unable to believe that someone so beautiful exists. I reach out to her and she's frozen in the moment as I smooth her silky locks, drawing her ever closer to me. I lean in slowly, giving her more than enough time to pull away, my heart thundering in my chest.

When my lips meet hers, I stop breathing, feeling her soft and pliant and perfect against me. My hand moves from her hair to stroke across her cheek and I feel her relax into the kiss. Our mouths slide together, so softly that it's killing me, until she places one hand on my hip and I slide my free arm around her waist, pulling her tightly against me.

I'm dying, I know I am, and if the last thing I feel is her lips against mine, I'll thank God for making my last moments on this earth so perfect. I've wanted to kiss her for so long and now that it's happening... I can't believe it's really true.

I fight the moan that threatens to escape when she wraps both arms around my back, before sliding a hand up to tangle in my hair. I try desperately to memorize this feeling, the joy that floats through me as she eagerly returns the kiss, pressing our lips more firmly together as I delicately trace the indentation of her spine under her jacket.

She pulls far enough away that we can both gulp in air and then she slides us back into the moment, parting her lips in invitation. I don't need to be asked twice. I slip my tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers, teasingly pulling back without parting our lips, hoping fervently that she'll chase me. When she does, I lose the battle against the moan.

I don't know how long we stand there, but it's not long enough. I want to burrow into her embrace and never leave it. I want to feel her hands on my skin. I want  so much from her. Gathering all the nerve I have, I trace lower down her back, sighing into the kiss as I slide my hands over the curve of her ass. She feels as good as I knew she would when I saw how tight her jeans were earlier tonight, but the action causes her to pull away from me, gasping.

I can't keep the "wow" from slipping from my lips . My eyes flutter open and I want to kiss her again, but when I meet her gaze, the mixture of emotions stops me. I stare at her, knowing that the lust in her gaze is mirrored in mine. Underneath her desire though, there's confusion, panic and something that I can't quite place. She kissed me back, but now she doesn't know what to do with that. "Callie?"

She lifts one hand to her mouth and I watch as she runs a finger across her lips.

"Callie?"

 She looks up at me and I can suddenly see what the other emotion is in her eyes. Guilt. She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

"Don't."

 "Er-"

 "Please, Callie, just... just let me have this. Just for tonight I want to be happy. I want to know that I had the guts to kiss you, so just... don't."

I tune back in the direction we came from, rifling through my purse for my phone , knowing that, as wonderful as this night was, it's over now. Maybe it's all over, but I try to stay in the memory of her lips on mine, the feel of her pressed against me. It was beautiful and perfect, but I know it's going to hurt soon. I don't want that time to be now though, so when she reaches for my hand, I let her take it, squeezing slightly in reassurance as I use  my other hand to dial a cab.

We walk in silence, the easy conversation replaced by uncertainty. I don't know how we'll deal with this tomorrow, but at least she's allowing me this night. At least she's not marring this memory with what I now know she has to say.

***

When we get to the address she gave the taxi driver, she tugs at my hand as I turn to tell her goodbye. I don't know what she wants, but I follow her willingly. I'd follow her anywhere, I think. I ask the driver to wait for me and let her lead me to the front of the up-market block of apartments she calls home. We stand in the doorway, too close together, but I can't bring myself to move away. She studies me for a long moment and then slips one arm around my waist. I think I stop breathing.

"As long as we're just having tonight..." It's barely a whisper, but I'm so attuned to her that I feel her in every part of my body. I don't understand what she means, but I whatever it is, I'll gladly do it.

Before I can catch up, she leans in and kisses me this time and Oh My God it's so much better. She's kissing me and I'm kissing her back with a hunger I've never felt before. As she runs her tongue along my lip, I welcome it, unable to hold back the moan that I'm almost certain is echoed in her own throat. I don't want it to end. Ever. I could kiss her for the rest of my life and it still wouldn't be long enough. We're both panting when the lack of oxygen forces us to part.

"Thank you." Her voice is gentle and I'm not sure I know what she's talking about. My brain won't re-engage.

"Huh?"

She giggles slightly, despite the reality that we both know we're returning to. The reality that means she can't be mine. "For a lovely night. Coffee in the morning? Or lunch?"

"Both." I'm not sure that I'll be ready for her to tell me what I know she has to, but I'm not sure I can stay away from her either. I can still feel her hands on my skin and her lips on mine, and I can't concentrate on anything else. She's going to tear my hopes down tomorrow, but for tonight, I'm just a woman who wants her; a woman who had the confidence to go for what I want. She's letting me have it, and maybe, just maybe, she's taking what she wants too.

She flashes me another stunning smile - I've seen so many tonight, but she still takes my breath away. I push the fact that this is going to hurt tomorrow to the back of my mind, focusing on the little that's left of the night. I run my hand down her arm, lacing our fingers and leaning in again. If I kiss her the way I want to kiss her, I don't think I'll be able to stop, so I gently kiss her cheek instead, lingering longer than I probably should. When I pull back, I know she's as torn as I am, but she resettles her bag on her shoulder and turns towards the door, entering the combination to open it  on the keypad to the side. I hate that tonight is ending. I could spend so much longer with her, and I still don't think it would be enough.

Callie slips inside the door, flashing me one last smile as she goes. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Count on it." I watch her through the glass as she heads to the elevator, smiling at her as she turns to wave at me. Reluctantly, I turn round once she's out of sight, sighing with the conflicting emotions that run through me and knowing that I'm destined for another night with her starring in my dreams.

The driver watches me in the mirror when I return to the car. I tell him my address and he gives me a sympathetic smile. "Shot down, huh? I feel your pain."

If only he knew what's coming.

If only I knew what's coming.


	5. Chapter 5

 I don't meet her for coffee. I skip lunch. I know that when I see her she's going to tell me that she's sorry, but she's not interested in me in a romantic way. That's she's with Mark. I know it now, but I don't want to hear it from her. Somehow, that will hurt more, and I don't want her to see how much power she already has over me. So I'm avoiding her. And I'm doing a good job of it.

Until I make the mistake of going to my office.

To be fair to myself, I couldn't avoid it. Richard wants my paperwork from the surgery on Bailey's child, and it's on my desk, but I should have known better than to go myself. I could have sent any resident or intern to get it and I could have avoided what has me stopped in my tracks at my office door.

Callie.

Apparently, Orthopedics is either a surgeon down today, or they have no patients, because it looks like she's been here a while. There are several coffee cups that I know I didn't leave on my desk, and she looks like she's exhausted.

"So, you're avoiding me."

I don't have an answer to that. I could pretend that I've just been busy, but we both know that's not true, so I just stand in shocked silence, unable to move as she stands up from my chair, slowly walking towards me.

"I watched you run away from me three times this morning, you didn't meet me for coffee, you weren't anywhere to be seen at lunch... It didn't take a genius to figure it out."

I can't speak. Even when she's about to rip my hopes to pieces, she takes my breath away. She's standing right in front of me now, and she tentatively reaches out to take my hand, pulling me through the door. She closes it behind us and I swallow hard, trying to find _any _words.

"Erica?"

I realize I'm staring and drop my gaze to the floor, wishing that I'd thought this through. I watch her sink into one of the chairs by my desk and she lets go of my hand. I can't move.

"I'm sorry." It's barely a whisper, but I know she hears me.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

"You don't need to be sorry." I don't know what's going on here. I can't look at her, but she pulls me down into the chair beside her, gently taking my chin in her hands and lifting my head, so I stare at the wall behind her. Her skin is so soft and I'm wanting desperately to think about anything else, but I _can't_ think when she's touching me.

She sighs heavily, struggling almost as much as I am to find speech. "I... I haven't been entirely honest with you."

There's a long pause as she seems to steel herself.

"I'm married."

The breath I didn't know I was holding escapes, and I know that I visibly deflate. I thought I knew what she was going to say. I didn't. I absolutely did not expect this. How did she keep this a secret? How was there no indication in the incestuous gossip that plagues this hospital that this would be true? I don't know what comes over me, but I'm laughing, trying hard to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. I refuse to let her see me cry. She's already seen me weakened. I will not let her see me break.

"It's... funny?"

"No. No, it's not. It's just... my luck, you know, sucks." I never talk this way, but I don't think that I'm home right now. I'm watching this play out like a scene from a movie, and I'm thinking, _what the fuck,_ but I can't stop. I can't not laugh. Anything else would kill me right now.

"I'm sorry. Look, I don't know what's going on between us." Well, at least she admits there's something. I can't see how that helps me right now, but I think it will be hope to hold on to later. "But I can't- I can't let it. Mark... he's good to me." Not as good as I would be. "And I like you, I do. And I... I liked kissing you. But it can't happen again."

I knew that, but I feel like she's ripped something precious away when she actually says it. It hurts in a way that I hadn't hurt yet, and it's getting harder and harder to hold back the tears.

"Can we maybe...just be friends?"

I don't know if I can manage that, but I nod anyway. She's amazing and, if she can only be my friend, well, it's better than not having her in my life at all now that I'm getting to know her. She smiles at me, but it's tinged with sadness. If I didn't know better, I'd think that she regrets that we can't be more than friends almost as much as I do. We avoid each other's gaze for a long moment, until my pager breaks the silence. I snatch it from my hip, for once relieved at the interruption. It's only Richard though, reminding me that he needs my chart, but I cling onto it like the opportunity it is as I wearily raise myself from the seat, finally meeting Callie's eyes.

"I've got to..."

"I know. Um... will you be long? Because I really think... I really think we need to talk about this." She blows her hair away from her face in frustration and it's so damn adorable that I can't help but smile a little, despite the disappointment in my chest. I don't see what there is to talk about. She's married. That basically ends the issue. Apparently, though, while my brain is telling me this, something else makes me nod, and whisper, "I just need to take a chart to the Chief and then..."

Her hand wraps gently round my wrist and I hate myself for the way I shiver at the contact, the way my nerve endings flare to life at the softest touch of her skin. I look at her questioningly and she offers me a nervous smile. "Then you'll come back and we'll talk?"

My brain screams that it's a bad idea, but my body betrays me again when I nod at her, my eyes searching her face for any sign of what she feels it's so important to say. I lean forward to grab the chart I need off of my desk, and Callie stays where she is, letting me lean close enough to smell her shampoo. I shouldn't enjoy it, and she shouldn't give me the opportunity. Strictly, this is straddling the line between "just friends" and "something more," but in this moment, I think we both enjoy the closeness - even if it's the last time.

I offer her a sad smile - at least, I try to - and pull out of her space, even though every part of me revolts at moving away from her. I study every inch of her while I walk backwards towards the door, knowing that this may be the last time I'm allowed to. Callie smiles back at me, but it's not as bright as usual, and I want so badly to think that this is hurting her too. I turn away reluctantly, regretting it the second I do. I open the door before I can change my mind, keeping my shoulders straight and my head held high as I let the professional image overtake the all-too-human woman that, within the walls of Seattle Grace,  Callie Torres alone has seen. My colleagues will not see me break, even as my emotions battle for supremacy with a ferocity they never have before.

***  

I find myself on the roof a short while later. I didn't think this through, and I'm shivering as I swim up through the fog of thoughts and emotion, and come back to full awareness. I don't even remember deciding to come out here. I remember Callie, Webber, and finally the sight of Mark, which stirred all the anger and doubt and pain that has settled into my chest since last night.

Cursing my stupidity, I turn back towards the hospital, only to stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Callie reaching towards me tentatively, my jacket hanging over her arm. I can't move. I don't know what I haven't given her today. She's seen my pain - does she really need to know how much I feel it?

"It's been an hour, Erica. You said you were taking the chart to Webber and we could talk, but" she exhales sharply, once more blowing the strands of hair that have tumbled onto her face away. "It's been an hour."

She offers me my jacket and I take it from her, grateful for the warmth. "Thank you."

"I...I looked everywhere for you and then I thought about the two places I go. I didn't think you were the "lock myself in a dark room and never come out" type, which left the roof, and I took a chance that you wouldn't have your jacket so I'm glad I bought it. You must be cold. Are you cold? I'm rambling. I keep telling Mark he needs to slap me when I do that."

She is rambling, and I think that I'd be happy to listen to her saying anything as long as it means I don't have to deal with the way she makes me feel now that I know the truth. And then she mentions Mark Sloan and my blood boils. I only thought I didn't like him before, but now... now he has the only thing other than surgery that I've wanted badly enough to just forget all the risks and dive right in. I hate him... and I'm livid with her. I thought there was something between them - that's true - and I thought I was prepared for her rejection - but that's not. It hurts more than I ever thought it could.

"Erica?"

"You don't get to call me that right now!" The fine wire holding in my emotions snaps and I know I'm bleeding out all over the place, so rapidly that even I couldn't save me. "How can you... how could you.... why would you think I want to talk about Sloan?" It'd probably the least important thing she's said to me today, but it's the one thing that my brain latches onto and refuses to forget. I can't believe she would be so careless as to throw the name of the person who has everything I want into conversation when the loss of my dreams is still so raw. I see her stumble for an answer, to try and explain something. but I don't want to hear it. I don't have to hear it.

"Leave me alone, Callie! Just... leave me alone."

She reaches out a hand to stop me as I go to walk past her, but I sidestep it, needing not to touch her right now. Even though I don't look back as I slip into the familiar corridors of my profession, I know she's standing there in shock, trying to figure out how we went from a promising friendship to jealous rage in three days. I don't think my heart is broken, but I'm sure that something inside of me is. Maybe it's because I trusted her, I trusted that she was telling me the truth, and all this time she's been lying to me. She never said she's single, but she definitely never said that she's not. It would have been one thing if she was fooling around with that buffoon, but this... this feels like betrayal and I don't really know why. She was never mine. She never said she was mine. I never even really thought she could be.

Except... maybe I did.

I don't know how long I walk for, my last real memory, that isn't tears and Callie, being checking for my phone and pager as I left the hospital. I thought about going back for my car keys, but the last thing I need right now is to be driving. I can barely see through my tears. I'm a mess, and I can't wrap my head around it. I've never cried like this for the loss of anything, let alone the loss of something that I didn't even have. All I can think about is her though, and how amazing she felt in my arms. I knew the memory of our shared kisses was going to hurt today, but I didn't realize that it would slice into me like shards of broken glass, ripping me apart in the process.

I don't understand what's happening. I don't know how something that was so perfect last night can be so tarnished today. I can't reconcile the woman I saw last night with a woman who would be married to Mark Sloan. I can't see Mark Sloan as married. There's so much about this that seems so wrong, so much about this that I can't understand, and I can't ask her. I don't want to know that she kissed me out of pity, or curiosity or for whatever reason a married woman kisses someone back like she kissed me. I don't want to know why she kissed me unprompted, because, whatever the answer, it doesn't matter now. I can't fight against marriage. That's a bond that should never be broken. It's a vow she took intending not to break it, and even if she would let me be, I don't want to be that woman. I don't want to be the woman who hangs around for whatever scraps her married lover chooses to throw her. I don't want to forever believe her when she tells me "It's just got to be the right time." I shouldn't want anything from her now. But I do. Oh, God, I do.

Eventually, though my pager buzzes and I'm pulled back to life, still only a shell of my usual self, but able to think about something other than Callie for however long it takes me to deal with whatever emergency demands my attention. It's only then that I notice that I don't have a clue where I am. There's a park nearby and I can just about make out the freeway through the gaps in the houses, but I don't know exactly where I am, or how to get back, and I can feel the tightening in my chest, I can feel the stress on my breathing. I'm trying to calm myself down, but I'm struggling because all of this is just too much. It's too much to face today, and I can't make sense of anything. It's rushing around my head and hammering at my skull. All I want right now is Callie. I want someone to hold me and say that everything's going to be okay, and as fucked up and ridiculous as it is, as much as she's the root cause of my pain, I want it to be her. She's the catalyst for everything today, and more and more, it feels like she's the catalyst for something else as well. Something that might be bigger than both of us and all the plans that either of us have made. I don't believe in fate, but I do believe that when someone can break you and you still want them, it's not something you can control. I'm drawn to Callie like a moth to a flame, and even though she's scorched me, I want to burn. I can try and stay away from her, but I don't know if I can succeed. That's terrifying. It's more terrifying than not knowing where I am, it's more terrifying than the way I've fallen to pieces over her this afternoon. To think that there might be a bigger plan; that _this _is the bigger plan... well, I'd like to see where it ends up before I buy a ticket to ride the insanity express.

I can't believe I'm even thinking about this. I can't believe that a slight moment of panic and I'm running back to her, begging her to let me be the "other woman," just one scare and I'm thinking about ripping up every moral I have. I can't believe that there's anyone alive who can make me want to throw away pieces of myself the way she does. I hate it at the same time that it reminds me - for the first time in a long while - that I am alive.

My pager chirps insistently again, and this time, I actually manage to look down at it. It's Callie and I have no way of knowing if this is one of those rare times where our specialties coincide or not. I feel a rush of calm seeing her name, like I'm more grounded than I was a few seconds ago. I wished for Callie to be here, and in a way - she is. Digging out my cell, I call the hospital, knowing that whoever picks up will be able to tell me if I'm needed for a trauma.

I'm not. Callie herself answers the phone. "Seattle Grace, Dr. Torres speaking. How can I help?"

"Callie?"

"Erica? Oh, thank God. I've been looking for you for hours. Where are you?"

"You paged me for this?"

"I paged you because you weren't answering your cell, you weren't anywhere in the hospital and I was worried. Where are you?"

It pains me to admit it, but I have to. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean, I don't know." The frustration is showing in my voice, so I make a conscious effort to calm down. "I started walking and, uh, I don't really know how to get back."

She laughs just a little, I think from relief at the fact that she's found me and I'm okay - alive and uninjured anyway. "I thought you'd been kidnapped for a second." I was right: relief.

"Who would kidnap me, Cal? Who do you think would succeed in kidnapping me?"

"Even you can be vulnerable Dr. Hahn." There's a long pause as she seems to realize that, actually, the only times she's really seen me vulnerable is when it's about her. Even in the locker room after Bailey's outburst, I wasn't really vulnerable, but last night - and this afternoon - I've been as far from strong and impervious as I have ever been.  "What direction did you walk in? We're two smart women, I'm sure we can figure out how to get you back here." 

"I don't know. North, I think."

As I describe my surroundings to her, I'm only half paying attention to the conversation, even as I know I shouldn't have left the hospital at all, let alone be reluctant to return there. Since my first day as an intern, I have never not wanted to be at the hospital. The amount of vacations I've taken in twelve years can be counted on one hand. There's no thrill in life that can match surgery - at least, I was sure of that until I felt her lips on mine. She made me feel the rush that surgery brings, with none of the pressure of failure. In the same way though, surgery doesn't scare me, and Callie most definitely does. I'm in my element in the OR; with Callie, I'm just a woman. I don't understand the way I react to her voice, even when she should be the last person whose voice I want to hear.

"I know where you are!" There's excitement in her voice as she figures it out, but I'm just exhausted. I can't feel happy to be able to get back to the hospital because the hospital means I have to face her. That I might have to face Sloan. I don't know how to relate to either of them right now. Callie makes me want to cry, and I'm fairly sure that I want to hit Sloan - and much as that would probably make me feel better, I don't think it would do my career any good. I couldn't justify it without sounding like I've gone insane. Maybe I have. 

"Can you tell me how to get back?"

"It's pretty far. Stay where you are and I'll come get you."

"No. Just tell me how." I don't want her to see me like this. I'm not myself. I can feel the tightness on my cheeks and the soreness of my eyes that speaks of the tears I've cried. I'm not the sort of woman who carries a compact, but if I were, I'm not sure I could look at myself now. I'm not a crier. I never have been. When I was a kid, if I fell down, I just got right back up and carried on. I've always been driven, determined. Setbacks are just another chance to prove yourself. As an adult, I've never really cared enough about anything but surgery to let things get to me. I get melancholy, I get sad, I've even almost been broken-hearted, but I never let myself cry. Yet, there's something about Callie that makes me run the full gamut of emotions. I couldn't stop the tears when I left the hospital and now, I'm pissed. Maybe it's because of the tears, or maybe it's because of the situation. I can't understand why she kissed me back. I can't understand why she initiated the kiss outside her apartment. I don't understand exactly what it is she wants from me.

I don't want her to see me like this. I can't stand pity, especially when it's directed at me, and pity from Callie _Sloan _is definitely not something I care to experience.

"Well, you really are a long with from the hospital. I'm going to come get you. Alone. We need-"

"I can get back by myself!"

"I'm not saying you can't, Erica. I just... we really need to talk."

"About what? You're married, Callie. To Mark Sloan." The disgust is clear in my voice, as much I try not to let it show.

"You agreed- You know what? I'm not doing this on the phone. I'm coming to get you. If you're not there when I get there, Seattle Grace will be two surgeons down until I find you."

"Callie-" She doesn't let me finish.

"No. What if you're needed here? If there's a trauma, I don't think anyone can wait for you to walk back. I'll see you soon." She hangs up before I can argue, and, truthfully, I don't have anything to counter that.

I wait.

***

Fifteen minutes later, as promised, Callie shows up alone. Other than her terse "get in," when she pulls up beside me, we don't say anything until we're a few blocks from the hospital. I don't know what to say to her, and I can't look at her. If I look at her, I might forget that I'm supposed to be angry, and I've worked myself up enough over her that I think I can pull off being Dr Hahn for the rest of the day if I can stay pissed off. I feel her eyes on me from time  to time, but I refuse to look anywhere but out of the window.

She heaves a sigh. "Erica-"

"No, Torres. I don't want to do this today. I can't be your friend right now."

"You said-"

"I nodded. I didn't say anything."

"Fine. You _agreed _to be friends. I like you a lot, _Erica, _and I meant it when I agreed that I don't like people."

"Clearly you like Sloan." I can't keep the bitterness out of my tone, and I hate myself for showing her how much this has affected me.

"Mark and I... it's complicated. I can't explain it right now-"

"And I can't have this conversation right now. I can't. Just... let me start being your friend tomorrow. Please. Just let me be pissed today, so I can be your friend tomorrow."

She pulls into the hospital parking lot a little too fast, and I know without looking at her that her jaw is tight and frustration is written all over her face. As soon as she stops the car, I'm out the door, ignoring her call after me as I gather myself and stride into the hospital. I've said all I can manage to say.

***

"Yang." The resident jumps at my commanding tone, almost running over to me.

"You're friends with Dr. Torres." It's not a question, but she answers anyway, in that sycophantic way that drives me insane. I ignore it for now though, because I need something from her, and I don't think she's going to give me it unless I'm nice to her. Nice for me, anyway.

"Yes, Dr. Hahn."

I avoided Callie for the afternoon with paperwork and then, blissfully, a surgery that required no thought at all. Now though, I want to talk to her, I have questions that need to be answered before I can put my brain to rest, and Callie has gone home. Sloan, however, is in surgery, and will be for several hours yet.

"I have a double bypass tomorrow morning. Give me her apartment number, and you can scrub in." I watch the brief conflict play out across Yang's features. "Hurry up, Yang. I'm sure Stevens will be more than happy to take it." Yang's ambition and desire to impress wins out.

"304 Sy-"

"I don't need the whole address. I just need the apartment number."

"Of course, Dr. Hahn." The tone  she takes with me drives me insane. I know she doesn't like me. She told me as much before she knew that I'd agreed to take over for Preston Burke.  Yet still, she's so deferent. I'm sure I was never as over-the-top as she is as a resident. There's a difference between respectful and annoying, and I don't think Yang knows where it is.

She's still looking at me expectantly.

"Go." She scurries off, no doubt off to tell all her little friends how Callie has somehow upset me. It's funny, really. She's right, but she's so very wrong. "I'll expect you at ten tomorrow, Dr. Yang."

She skids to a stop just before rounding the corner, turning back to me with an overly thankful look. "Of course, Dr. Hahn. Thank you, Dr. Hahn." The overuse of my name is another thing she does that makes me dread spending time in her company. I know who I am (though I'm worried that if I don't get a grip on this Callie thing, I won't recognize myself anymore), I don't need Yang reminding me every five seconds.

Looking around to make sure I'm alone, I drop my charts on the nurses' station, leaning on it with my head in my hands. I told Callie that I needed to take today to pissed, and I do, but I don't want to leave my questions until tomorrow. I'll toss and turn all night if I do. Making a final decision, I sigh, check the surgical board again to make sure that I was right about Sloan's whereabouts, and head back to my office to end this awful day.

***

"Erica." There's no surprise in Callie's voice when she swings the door open, and it's not because I had to buzz to get in. For such an upscale place, people are maybe too trusting. She must see the shock on my face at her lack of shock because she steps back and waves her cell phone at me. "You need to be more careful what you tell Cristina she can and can't do if she wants to _stay_ scrubbed in on your surgeries."

"She called you."

"She called me. She shouldn't have needed to though. You could have just asked me."

"You weren't there. She was."

"So, you like seeing how high she'll jump for surgeries?"

"What?"

"You've got my number, too. You could have called me."

"I didn't want to do this on the phone." I drop my gaze to my feet, unable to look at her anymore.

"Come in." I hesitate and she's completely wrong as to why. "Mark's still at work."

"I know." Steeling myself, I take a step forward, and then another, until I'm far enough inside her - _their - _apartment that she can close the door behind me. I brought us here. I kissed her. I came here... and yet I feel trapped. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I have no idea how to start this conversation.

"Drink?" I don't think I want one really, but I flash back to my guidance counselor in High School telling us to always accept drinks if they're offered, because it gives you time to think. I don't think he had this exact situation in mind when he said it, but I believe it applies here. All I've done this afternoon is think about what I want to say to her, but now she's in front of me, I don't know where to start.

Callie disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. It's a nice place: big, bright and airy. There are pictures everywhere, but the it's the one above the fireplace that draws my attention. It's larger than the others, but not huge. Callie is leaning against Mark, wrapped in his arms. They're on the beach; Mark in a crisp white shirt and Callie in a simple cream dress. I hear her walk up behind me as I realize, with a jolt of something I can't name, what this is a photograph of.

"Our wedding day. Mom and Dad made us go to Miami. I was all for quietly eloping in Vegas, but Mark called my parents, and, well... Miami." She seems almost as nervous as I am about this conversation, and it anchors me to know that I'm not the only one who feels out of her depth. She hands me a glass of red wine, and I take it gratefully, needing something to hold onto.

"It looks beautiful." What I mean is she looks beautiful. She's glowing in white and her smile is movie-star dazzling. Her eyes are twinkling in that way that I know means trouble, but there's something under the surface that says she's not as happy in that moment as she should have been.

"It was." The conviction that should be in her voice isn't there, and I turn to face her. She's melancholy as she looks at the photograph. When she notices the question in my eyes, Callie smiles, but I don't think it's genuine.

"Callie?"

"I just really would have preferred it to be just us. I wasn't exactly... there were things that I don't know how to explain. It's complicated. Mark and me." I follow her as she leads us to the couch. We sit uneasily at opposite sides, both staring into our wine glasses. I know what I want to say to her. I know what questions I need answered, but I don't know how to bring it up. I don't know how to have these conversations. I've never needed to before. I don't get this attached to people, and it's normally the problem in my relationships. I run to surgery when things get hard, but today, I ran from surgery because of her, and I can't understand what it is that's so different about Callie.

"Erica?"

"Callie?" We speak at the same time, and giggle uncomfortably at each other for a second. When I look down at my glass again, she composes herself too.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know."

"I did though, didn't I?"

"I'm a big girl. I can cope."

"I wish you didn't have to." The words force me to look up, but she's gazing into the distance, so I can't read her emotions. "I just... if things were different... but they're not, and I can't- Mark's good to me." It's almost like she's trying to talk herself into something, and I'm wondering again if she's been suffering from the same inexplicable attraction that I have, if she's been struggling between dream-us and real-us.

"So you've said." I offer her a smile she doesn't see, and take a gulp of my wine. "I can do this. I can... it might take me a while, but I can watch you be with him. I'd rather be your friend than nothing at all, and I think you're saying those are my choices."

"I wish it was different." With those words, she confirms everything I've wondered, and I don't have to ask the questions I've asked myself all afternoon. She hates this as much as I do, and it's not my imagination that there's something between us. It's not just because she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. There's something tangible here, but our hands are tied. There's nothing we can do but accept that friends is all we can be.

"It's not though. I get it. I do."

"Erica..." Finally she turns to face me, looking deep into my eyes. Hers are deep pools of emotion, a conflict raging beneath them that I don't want to see. I need to know that this is what she wants, that Mark is what she needs. "I'm sorry."

What can I say but, "Me too"?

***

We talk for a short while after that, but Mark will be home soon, and I need to leave before he is. I don't want him to see me here. I don't want to see him here. Most of all, I don't want him to see the cracks in my facade. It's enough that Callie sees through the mask without trying, but my defenses are down now, and I don't think I can take Sloan seeing that I'm just a person.

Callie calls after me as I reach the elevator, and I turn, unable to deny her anything. She jogs down the hall towards me, enveloping me in her arms. It's almost automatic when I breathe her in, branding her scent on my lungs. We fit together so well, and I wrap my arms around her instinctively.

I don't know how long we stand there, but it feels like forever - and no time at all. I have to loosen my hold on her before she pulls away, and, like everything else, it's confusing, and exciting, and dreadful, and wonderful when she seems reluctant to let me go. She brushes her lips across my cheek before stepping away, and I could swear that my heart skips a beat.

"Friends?" She whispers it quietly, but it still burns.

"Friends." I confirm it with a slight nod, my voice steady, although something uncomfortably close to my heart is screaming its displeasure at the word. I back into the elevator, unable to turn away from her.

She's still watching me as the doors slide closed.


	6. Chapter 6

There are no new starts. You can't get a do-over in life. Once something's been said, once something's been done, it can't be undone. Even if you try to push it away, force it down, forget it - it affects you. It's why, no matter how we try, Callie and I can't shift the tension that settles around us when we're alone. We're both professionals, we know how to mask deeper emotion with friendship, and dislike with collegial respect when inside the hospital, but outside... It feels like we're on a precipice. It's unsteadying to know that everything we've built so carefully since she told me that she's married could fall down around us and leave us bare to each other. With just one wrong - or right - move, we could shatter the wall of "just friends" that's we've erected between us.

Callie feels it too. It's the only thing that explains why, for the last few weeks, our 'alone' hang-out time has been in places that are full of people. We don't go to her place for obvious reasons, and we've tried hanging out at mine, but the _something _that draws us together always becomes just that little too much, and we part with nervous smiles and awkward 'no hip contact' hugs.

I still savor even that touch a little too much.

It also explains why I'm confined to pacing behind the door of my living room while Callie’s alone in my bedroom, rifling through my closet. It's killing me. I made her a promise, and I'll keep it, but I want to drink in the sight of her in my bedroom. God damn my hormones, I want us to cross that line. I hate myself for it, but I want her so badly that the slightest provocation drives me insane.

"Callie?"

A muffled affirmation.

"You done yet? I need a drink."

I step into the hallway as Callie sticks her head out my bedroom door and steals my breath. She's always unbearably beautiful, but now... there are no words. She's smiling, a twinkle in her eyes that tells me she's about to tease.

"You, Hahn, have no dancing clothes. None at all. How does that happen?"

I shrug in response. I'm not the dancing kind of girl, and Callie should really know that by now. She insists I need to go though, and, let's be honest, my protests were only for show. The idea of being crushed against Callie in the crowd, the idea of seeing her dance, the idea of seeing her all dressed up... it's ridiculously tempting, despite my wooden dance moves. I run my eyes across her as she steps into the hall, and I don't know what she's been doing in my bedroom, but I don't think I care. Not when her skin is flushed, her breath is coming a little harder than usual and her hair is ruffled where she's run her hands through it. She looks exactly the way I want her to look in my bedroom, only she has on more clothes. The tension settles around us again, and I'm sure she knows what I'm thinking while I stare at her. I think she's thinking it too, because we're not moving, and her eyes are as fixated on me as mine are on her. It's too much. It's all too much. I can't read the look in her eyes for a second, and then I can't see her eyes at all as she drops her gaze to the floor.

"I, uh... I could drink. Joe's?"

I want to suggest we stay here, to revel in the torture of resisting this tension, to see just how far the barrier can be pushed without breaking. I know she won't though, and I know I shouldn't even be thinking it, so I nod. "Joe's is good."

***

The tension between us has mostly disappeared by the time we settle into a booth at Joe's. Callie's lined up three shots of tequila and a gin and tonic. She's proven more than once since that first night that I only _thought _I could out-drink her. She tosses back two of the shots, and I watch her, nursing my glass of red wine. I can't tear my eyes away from her, however hard I try. Her hair falls around her face, carelessly perfect, and I want to run my hands through it as I tug her in to kiss me. No matter how often I remind myself that we're _friends, _that we can only be _friends, _I can't help but want more. Spending time with her is the most delicious torture. I don't know if I can keep doing this, but I can't tear myself away from her, no matter how hard I try.

"What're you thinking?" She sucks on the piece of lemon while she waits for me to formulate an answer, and I almost groan. Everything she does sparks something inside of me, and I know I should remove myself from the temptation, but more than I want her, I genuinely like her. I don't know what she sees in me that keeps her coming back, but whatever it is, I'm thankful for it.

"I like being here." It's not a lie. I was thinking about how much I like being here with her. I don't need to tell her that I was also thinking how hard it is to be this close, but still so far from what I really need.

"Me too." She tosses back the third shot, and gestures to Joe for more. "You're joining me this time, Dr. Hahn."

"No. Tequila does not agree with me." It makes me do and say stupid things, and I'm so close to doing and saying those things when I'm around her that I don't think I need to encourage myself.

"Come on, Erica. Live a little." She gives me the cheeky smirk that she's already learned can get me to do almost anything, and I shake my head. I'm determined to stand strong on this one. We've built this facade so painstakingly, and I need to keep it in place. It would be too easy to cross the line, and I'm terrified of losing her. It almost kills me that we have to be friends, but I don't know that I can be without her now that she's brought so much laughter and joy into my life. I can take the pain she also brings because her smile lights up my world. She brings color and shades of gray into a life that has been black and white for far too long.

Joe brings over the bottle of tequila, clearly knowing Callie far too well. All my colleagues spend an insane amount of time in this bar, I've discovered. He offers us both a smile, and a quick "Dr. Hahn" in greeting to me before retreating back to the bar, leaving the bottle on the table. He watches us with interest, though, and I wonder if he senses that there's more to our friendship than meets the eye.

Callie pours out two shots, nudging one towards me. "Please?"

I sigh heavily, knowing that I'm beaten. "Just one." I point my finger towards her for emphasis, and she grins happily at me.

"On three." She counts slowly and we toss back the shots. I grimace at the taste, hating the way it burns all the way down. Shaking my head in disgust at how easily I caved, I suck the lemon, savoring the relief the bitterness brings. Callie's gaze seems to burn through me as I do so, and - not for the first time - I'm wondering what she's thinking. I sip at my wine, grateful that it chases the tequila away.

"I'm not doing any more shots, Cal. I have to operate tomorrow, and a hangover won't help any."

"Lightweight." Her smile lessens the taunt, and I grin back at her. When did I stop being the ice queen? I very carefully molded myself to that image, but Callie melts it away, seemingly without trying. It's such a dangerous line that we're walking, but we tiptoe along it anyway. The safer thing to do would be to remove ourselves from the source of temptation, but never let it be said that I take the easy road. I took the hard route through college, med school and becoming a surgeon, and now I'm finding time to invest in a personal life, I'm apparently taking the hard road here, too.

"Erica?" Callie's voice is tentative, and I lift my gaze to hers. There's something flickering in her eyes that I can't place, and I nod, waiting for her to continue. "Can I ask you something?"

"I think you just did."

"Very funny. Just... can I?" She drops her gaze, fiddling with the placemat as she stares at the table as though it holds answers to questions I don't understand.

"Go ahead."

"How did you know you were..." She shakes her head, and I wonder if she's telling herself she's stupid for even broaching the topic.

"Gay? It's okay, Callie, you can say it. The world won't end." She tries to smile at me, but it ends up more like a grimace, and more than ever before, I want to know what's going on in her mind.

"Yeah."

I want to tease her, ask her if there's a reason she's asking, if there's something she wants to tell me, but I don't. We've avoided any topic that has the potential to bring us back to the kisses we shared, a silent agreement drawn up when we decided that we would try to be friends, and for her to risk breaking that... she must really want to know.

Staring into my wine, I contemplate the answer. I must be quiet for too long, because I feel her shift in her seat, uncomfortable in the silence that's fallen across us. "You don't have to tell me."

"It's okay. I just... I've never really had this conversation before. I don't know quite how to start. I guess... I knew early, I think. I didn't know I knew, I didn't know what I was feeling, not really, but I knew I didn't look at boys the same way the other girls at school did. I never really wanted them to notice me. I just didn't care what they thought. I pretended I did, every now and then, but I was invisible to everyone but the teachers, so it didn't really matter."

Meeting Callie's gaze, I see the empathy in them. I think she knows how it felt to be invisible, for the other kids not to notice you unless they have something mean to say. It gives me the strength I need. I wasn't bullied in school, not really, it was more that no one really cared that I existed. "When I look back at things, I've had crushes on women my whole life. I idolized some female teachers to the point where I would ask for extra-credit just to spend more time with them, and I noticed things about other girls that weren't the things that everyone else was noticing, you know?" Callie nods, but stays quiet, waiting for me to continue. "It wasn't until college that I realized what was so different about me. My roommate that first semester was... beautiful. Long brown hair, amazing green eyes, legs so long it was almost unbelievable... and we bonded so quickly it was unreal."

"She was your first?"

"My first real crush. We used to talk for hours, and I spent so much time thinking about kissing her it was ridiculous. I never really had to think about it. I never doubted how I felt. It didn't feel wrong, and gay issues weren't really talked about, so I don't really think that there was anything out there telling me that I _was _wrong. I came home from college that Christmas and I couldn't stop thinking about her. I couldn't stop talking about her. I think my Dad knew how I felt about her, because he told me that I needed to concentrate on my studies, and if I couldn't do that, there was no point in me being at college. He told me that I wasn't there to make friends, or anything else, and I needed to stop spending so much time with Hannah. That she wasn't good for me, that I'd ruin every chance I had of becoming a surgeon if I couldn't keep my mind focused. After that... it was never the same, but I'd find myself laying awake at night, watching her sleep, thinking about how beautiful she was... and then one day, we were talking and I just couldn't help myself. She was all I could think about and I had to kiss her. It felt natural, right, but she freaked out, and soon after that she switched rooms with someone in her Psych class. I saw her a few times after that, but she always just... looked through me."

"That must have been hard."

"It was. I... I don't think I loved her, but it was the first time I'd ever wanted anything that wasn't a good grade, and I didn't really know how to deal with it. I threw myself into work and just kept to myself. I knew I wasn't interested in men at all. I never really struggled with myself. I was just... I am what I am, nothing can change that. Until I had my first girlfriend, I just tried not to think about it, I'd push it down and tell myself that I was happy with getting good grades and throwing myself into any extra-curricular stuff that would look good on my med school application. I sometimes thought that it would be easier if I could be giddy over boys the way the other girls were, but other than that..."

"You didn't worry about it." Callie sounds sad, and I meet her eyes again. She looks like she might be about to cry, and I don't know what it is about that story that would make her look so upset.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why? I got what I wanted. I'm here, aren't I? I made it. My Dad was right... I watched so many girls get caught up in their romantic dramas and waste their potential, and I'm glad I avoided that. And I'm proud of everything that I am. I wouldn't change it. Not really." Callie doesn't need to know everything. She doesn't need to know that after Hannah disappeared on me, I cried myself to sleep for months. She doesn't need to know that I hated myself for ruining the only friendship I ever had. She doesn't need to know that I'm terrified that she's going to do the same thing. It's unfounded, I know it is. If she was going to run, she would have done it already. Seattle Grace is a big hospital, and our specialties don't combine often. It wouldn't be hard for her to avoid me if that was what she really wanted. Knowing that doesn't change how scared I am.

As if she read my mind, she covers one of my hands with both of hers. Her voice is gentle: "I won't disappear on you." It's the closest we've come to addressing the situation between us, and it's that more than anything that causes tears to well up and a lump to form in my throat. I feel the warmth of her hands disappear, and I blink rapidly as I stare down at the table again, willing the tears away.

Seconds later, her arms encircle me and she pulls me into her body, stroking my hair as she rests her head on my shoulder. I welcome the warmth of her embrace, and I wish fervently, for perhaps the millionth time, that things were different. It feels so right to be here. It's like she should always be the person who comforts me, the person who I turn to when things get tough.

"It's okay, Erica. It's okay." She whispers soothing words into my hair as I cling to her with everything I am. I don't want to let go. I hold onto her for maybe longer than I should, but eventually I pull out of her arms, assuring her with a shaky smile that I'm fine. She doesn't go back to the other side of the table though.

"I told you tequila isn't my friend." I try to laugh it off, and I can see that she understands that I don't want sympathy right now.

"I should have listened to you, huh?"

"Let this be a lesson. I'm always right."

She laughs. "So you'd like to think."

"I know I am." This time, my smile is real. "Tell me what you have planned for tomorrow." Just like that, it's easy again. I groan in all the right places and put up just enough of a fight that I think she believes that I'm still reluctant to go dancing with her. To be honest though, I haven't looked forward to anything this much in a very long time.

***

The knock on my door comes at exactly eight o'clock, and I smooth my dress, checking my hair and make up once more. I know that this is just a night of fun between friends, but I want to look perfect for Callie. I found the dress in my locker this evening, with a note attached that just said, 'For tonight, because every fabulous woman needs a fabulous dancing dress.' I groaned when I saw it, but inside, I was unbelievably touched. It was wonderful to think that Callie had been thinking of me, and a part of me thrilled at the idea of her liking the thought of me in this outfit.

When I open the door, Callie is stunning in a simple black dress, and she's beaming at me as she runs her eyes across my figure appreciatively. I'm sure I look ridiculous as I glance down at the leopard-print dress she picked out for me, frowning at the sight. She notices and giggles, "You look gorgeous, Erica. Quit worrying about it."

My heart flutters in my chest at the compliment, and I tell myself sternly that she didn't mean anything by it. I take a second to enjoy the way she looks right now, her hair deliberately messy in that way that only Callie can pull off, her makeup flawless in it's subtlety, her legs long and enticing and looking longer because of the height of her heels. If I tried to pull those off, I'd fall flat on my ass in less than three seconds, but Callie seems as comfortable now as she is in Crocs and scrubs.

My mouth is dry as I look at her, but I force out the words. "You'll do, I suppose."

She slaps me on the arm playfully, and I offer her a smile that I'm sure says everything that I can't. I'm honestly joyous to be in this moment with her, to be looking forward to spending an entire night in her company with little chance of anyone from work interrupting our time together. And she is beautiful... so unbearably beautiful that I can hardly stand it.

"Come on, Hahn, let's get moving." I slip on my jacket and grab my purse, and Callie links her arm through mine as she almost drags me out the door. "Those drinks aren't gonna drink themselves, you know."

I laugh at her, amazed at how carefree I sound with her. "I'm starting to think you may have a problem."

***

As Callie laughs, tosses her hair and swings her hips to the beat, I can't help but dance with her. She pulls me into her, and I hate it as much as I love it. If I didn't need to be close to her, I'd be running. If I wasn't growing to love her; I'd hate her. This right here, us in this nightclub... it's proving the dichotomy of our relationship. She leans in closer and I can't stop the shiver as her breath washes over my ear. "That girl's checking you out."

I laugh as she spins me, and sure enough, there is a woman staring at me. With Callie right here though: I don't care. She's pretty, the other woman, and if I was here alone, I would probably respond to the smile that she throws me as she gestures between me, her drink and the bar. With Callie's laughter in my ears though, I shake my head, offering an apologetic smile in lieu of my attention.

"You should go for it." Callie's voice rushes over me again, and I turn back to her, laughing off the sharp pain in my chest.

"And leave you alone in this meat-market?"

"I can look after myself." She insisted on this night out, but now, I don't think she's enjoying herself. I don't know if it's because she wants me to find someone to be with so that she can stop feeling guilty about her marriage, and I won't go, or if the fact that someone else is interested in me has made her jealous. She's always given me signals that I struggle to read, but the closer we entwine our lives, the more illegible those signals become.

"I'm sure you can, Bone-Crusher, but I'm here with you. I already have all the fun I need." She gives me a dazzling smile, and the tension that had settled around us dispels - only to be replaced by the same tension that always floods the atmosphere when we're together.

It's a long time before she tears her gaze from mine, and I can't read the look in her eyes. I can never read her. What I know and what I feel have never been more different. I know we can't be together, but I feel like she wants me to step across the line of friendship. I won't do it though. Should anything happen between us, I won't be the one who initiates it. She'll have to because I'm not going to push her. I won't pressure her. I know that, even if she does want me, I shouldn't accept any advances she makes, but I don't know that I can be that strong. I can be strong enough not to push her down the road we shouldn't take, but I can't promise that I'm strong enough to resist if she wants to pull me along with her. I don't want her to lose herself in the moment and do something she'll regret. If she wants that line to be erased, she'll have to erase it. She has to make the decision. After all, the consequences that she'll have to live with are so much greater than mine.

Her hands on my hips tears me from my thoughts, and only now do I realize that I'd stopped dancing in favor of watching her. I lose myself in her too easily, and we both know it. The heat of her skin burns through the thin fabric of my dress as she gently sways my hips along with hers, and my heart is fluttering rapidly in my chest. My mouth suddenly feels dry and my palms are damp, but I can't move her hands. I want to enjoy the pretense that she's mine. I can't though, and when she finally meets my eyes again, I know she sees my struggle.

Callie threads her fingers through mine, dragging me along with her as she weaves a path through the crowd. Somehow, she captures the attention of the bartender almost immediately. I don't hear what she orders, but when she hands me the glass, I take it gratefully and let her lead me to the patio area outside. We're almost alone out here, and I know that this is dangerous. We're both flushed from the dancing, and, as predicted, we've been pressed closely together the whole night. It's driving me out of my mind, and I'm not sure that Callie's entirely unaffected. I sip at the drink she bought me, grimacing when I realize it's tequila again.

"I think you're obsessed with this stuff."

"Not obsessed. It's just, if I'm going to drink, why should I waste my time with the wimpy stuff? Tequila's a real drink."

"You mean, it gets you drunk off your ass and lowers your inhibitions?" I can't help but laugh at her.

"Don't you want my inhibitions lowered?" My eyes widen and I inhale heavily at that as the laughter dies in my throat. I can't believe she just went there. I can't believe that she's so directly referencing the tension that we've tried so hard to push away. I have no idea what to say.

I don't know where to look as she takes a step closer to me, and she's definitely too close now for this to be the comfortable 'friends' distance. She's not quite close enough for it to be breaking any rules, but it's too much. I force myself to step back, though every fiber of my being wants to step into the temptation, wants to wrap her in my arms and brand her as mine. I'm reciting _Sloan _in my head to try and dispel the desire that's wrapping itself around me, but it's not working very well.

It fails completely when she matches my step, keeping us just that little too close, and she trails one finger down my arm, leaving goose-bumps in her wake. I'm sure I shiver in response to her touch, and she smirks at me, "I'd say you do."

Suddenly, I don't know what game she's playing. I don't know what she wants, or why she's doing this. I'd think it was just the alcohol if it wasn't for the way we look at each other sometimes when we're working, or for the connection that sometimes has us scrambling to run away before we do things that we know we'll regret. Sometimes I think that the regret would be worth it.

I'm sure I look ridiculous as I search for words, but I'm saved from having to find something by the shrill ring of her cell phone. Our eyes lock, and then she tears her gaze from mine to her purse, reluctantly digging out her phone.

"What?" She looks annoyed, and I take the opportunity to create space between our bodies. I think we came out here to cool down, but I don't feel cool. My body burns with the desire I always feel for her, and I'm struggling to breath normally.

Placing my drink on the table, I gesture to Callie that I'll be back and she nods at me, looking irritated by whoever is on the other end of the phone. I step back into the crowded club, feeling relieved as I gain control of myself a little. I weave through the people, heading for the bathroom. When I get there, I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to breath normally. I need to regain my composure before I see Callie again. I won't give in this easily. I'm determined to be in control. I can't let her do this. I can't be the other woman. I can't be her secret.

It takes a little while, but I finally think that I'm okay. I can deal with this night. I just have to try and make sure that I don't let her get so close again. I don't know how to do that, but I know that I have to. Taking a deep breath, I step out of the bathroom, reminding myself that she's my friend. She's my best friend. The word runs through my mind like a mantra as I make my way back to her.

She's still on the phone, but she smiles when she sees that I'm back.

"Mark, I have to go... No... I'll see you tomorrow... You too." She stows the phone back in her purse, and steps back to me, sipping her drink. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Do you need to go?" Part of me desperately wants her to say yes. I can tell myself that I'm in control of this when I'm not near her, but as soon as I am, I can't help but follow her, wherever she wants to take me.

"No. I'm good."

We stand in silence for a moment, just looking at each other as the familiar tension builds in the space between our bodies. I search frantically for something to say, but nothing comes to mind that I'm _allowed _to say. It's Callie that breaks the silence though.

"If you had three wishes, what would they be?" I don't really understand what she's asking me. I don't have an answer. Right now, the only thing I wish for is her. I think she knows that, because she nods in understanding as I search for an answer, taking my hand and leading me again. I don't know where we're going. I don't know that I care.

***

It's late - or early, depending how you look at it - when Callie and I tumble out of a cab in front of my apartment. We're giggling at nothing, high on alcohol and dancing and each other, the strange interlude earlier in the evening almost entirely forgotten. I'm not sure how I'm going to operate in, oh God, five hours, but I think it might have been worth it. I've never been this unprofessional in my life. I've never had more than a few glasses of wine when I know I have to work the next day, but Callie makes me do all kinds of things that I've never even imagined I would. She makes me want to push my boundaries. It's terrifying and exhilarating and I could become addicted all too easily.

"And then he walked outside and it was like _bang, _the air hit him and he just went flat on the floor!" She's giggling as I try to slide the key into the lock, telling me about how Mark thinks he's the big man on campus, but, give him two or three glasses of wine and he's completely incapable of standing straight. "Just, one second he was there, the next, he's laying on the ground." She smacks her hands together to imitate the sound his head made when it hit the sidewalk, and I can't help but laugh with her.

I eventually force the door open, and we stumble into my apartment. Callie kicks her shoes off as she collapses onto my couch, and I can't help but laugh at her.

"Exactly how drunk are you?"

"Drunk enough to not care that I might be drunk. Not so drunk that I couldn't happily drink more if it was offered," she smiles at me, and it's infectious.

Smiling back at her, I respond. "I'm not going to offer." I glance down at my watch. "We have to be back at the hospital in three hours, Cal. More alcohol is the last thing we need." I slump next to her on the couch, closing my eyes as I contemplate whether I'll be more effective on two hours sleep or none at all.

"You're so beautiful." It's barely a whisper and I don't think I'd have heard her if I wasn't so attuned to her. I keep my eyes closed though - opening them could be dangerous, and it's definitely safer for both of us if I pretend I didn't hear her. It's harder to ignore the hand that traces a gentle path up my bare arm, before sifting my curls through her fingers, and almost impossible to pretend that I don't feel the heat against my side as she shifts closer, almost snuggling into my body.

"Erica?"

"Hmm?" I didn't mean to let her know that I'm paying attention, but apparently my subconscious has other ideas.

"If I kiss you, will you think it's because I'm drunk, or because I want to?" It's hesitant, quiet - but it's definitely what she says.

My eyes fly open, and I study her face, searching for something, but not knowing what. She doesn't wait for an answer though. Before I can figure out what's going on here, her lips are on mine, and it's as wonderful as I remembered it. Despite myself, I melt into the kiss, opening my mouth to her tongue. Lust flares inside of me, insistent, undeniable. I've never not wanted her, and my self-control is only so good. This pushes beyond the boundaries, as she kisses me with an almost desperate passion, our tongues dueling for dominance.

I can't help but moan at the taste of her. I hate tequila, but, mixed with her cherry lip-gloss and something that's all Callie... it's addictive. I could so easily get used to this. She turns without breaking our kiss, one leg swinging across my body, and I groan as I feel her weight settle on me. I want this. I want her. I'm not thinking about anything but that as she tangles her hands in my hair and grinds her hips against me.

Gasping for air, Callie tears her lips from mine, and I can't help but whimper at the loss of her. I'm not really sure why anymore, but I don't want a moment to think. I don't want that nagging feeling in the back of my head to manifest and tell me why we shouldn't do this. My head is foggy from the feel of her, from the perfume that surrounds me, from tasting her on my tongue, and I want this. I want to taste her everywhere. I want to worship her body with my own and show her exactly how much I feel for her. There's no fighting it at this point, I'm falling in love with her. I don't want to, but I know better than anyone that you can't help who you love. It's not something you choose.

Callie kisses me deeply again, and I'm helpless against it. I'm not really drunk, but I'm starting to be intoxicated by her. I can't think with her touching me, and I'm not sure I want to. Her hand slides round to stroke my back and she trails kisses from my mouth to my ear, sucking gently on the lobe. I can't help the moan that escapes my throat, and I feel her smile against me.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you?" Her breath washes over me, warm and moist and I shiver in response. I don't know what I should do. I know what I want, but I don't know that I should take it. I remember the pain that gathering my courage bought me the last time, and I don't want to be in that place again, but at the same time... she feels so good in my arms, this feels so right. I know it shouldn't, but it does.

Gentle, wet kisses make their way down my throat and she lathes her tongue over my hammering pulse, kissing and sucking and driving me insane. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that this shouldn't happen, but I can't pull away from her and she doesn't seem like she's going to pull away from me any time soon. I half-heartedly push her back, succeeding only in moving her lips from my neck to my shoulder, and a moan escapes before I can stop it. Still, I have to know that I didn't take advantage. "Callie, we ca-"

"Shh, baby. Let me do this. Let me give you this."

I defy anyone in the world to turn this woman down. There's just no way. I tried, but if she wants something, I'm certain Callie Torres gets it every time. I throw my head back in supplication as she kisses a path up my throat, and recaptures my lips hungrily.

I don't really remember how we get there, but it's not long before I find myself stripped bare in my own room, my fantasies coming true as she undulates above me; her thin black panties the only thing separating me from her wetness as she thrusts down against my thigh, her fingers tracing a light, torturous path to my core. There are flashes of memory, but I'm lost in the moment, lost in the perfection of her skin against mine, her naked breasts heaving and shining with an iridescent layer of sweat in the moonlight that filters in through the window. I've spent so many hours thinking about this, imagining how she would look, how she would taste, how she would feel. My fantasies pale to nothing in the presence of the real thing. I never imagined that it would feel this good, this right.

She leans down to kiss me and I moan into her mouth as her tongue tangles with mine, the dance primal and needy. I arch into her touch as she slides two fingers through the slick heat at my core, driving into my body in a way that's all need and desperation, and dear God, I'm in trouble. Feeling her inside of me, her breasts flush against mine, her thumb confidently circling my clit... there are no words to describe it. I have never been this close this quickly with anyone, and it's all about her. She's far from the most skilled lover I've had, but what she lacks in experience with a woman, she makes up for in enthusiasm - and by being _Callie _ \- as she whispers fervently how good I feel wrapped around her; how hot and tight and wet I am. I'm certain I've never wanted anyone more.

I can't control the deep moans that escape as she thrusts inside of me. her name a plea as she curves her fingers right... there.

I've wanted this so badly, from the moment I set eyes on her, and I can't quite believe that it's her voice in my ear, her fingers bringing me pleasure, her weight pinning me down. I want to touch her so much, but I can't control my body: I've given it over entirely to her. I thought all hope was lost and now... I'd think it's a dream but she feels better against me now that in even my dirtiest fantasies.

She moans in response and I groan her name. "Callie. don't stop. Oh God, please don't stop."

She curls her fingers inside me once more and I know that I can't hold out much longer. She circles my clit with her thumb, so gently that it's almost torture, whispering "Come for me, Erica."

A little more pressure and one last thrust and I do. I come undone, losing everything but her in the wave of pleasure that explodes across my body. She smiles down at me as she slowly withdraws her fingers and leans in to kiss me. I chase her hand with my hips, longing to feel her inside me again, longing for the peace her touch gives me.

Despite the reality that's slowly seeping back into my mind, I pull her tightly against me, peppering kisses all over her face. "That was amazing."

Callie laughs at the wonder in my tone, whispering "For me too." She brings our lips back together, her moan as our tongues tangle once more one of the most erotic sounds I've ever heard. I pull away, smiling up at her as she whimpers in disappointment.

"Give me a minute and I'll show you amazing."

"I think I just showed you."

She kisses me deeply once more, willingly opening her mouth for me as I trace her bottom lip with my tongue. We lose ourselves in the embrace for a long time, breaking apart only when the need for oxygen overpowers us.

"Amazing doesn't even begin to cover it."

As I flip us over and hover above her, taking in the lust in her rich brown eyes, I'm not thinking about anything but how badly I need to touch her; how much I need to make her feel as wanted as she's made me feel tonight. Something in the back of my mind tries to remind me that we can't do this; that I'm just setting myself up for more heartbreak, but I push it down, too lost in her to pay attention to anything but how much I want her.

It's a mistake we can't take back.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm disoriented for a second when I wake up with a warm body pressed against my back. I'm sure I came home with Callie. It's just a moment, and then it all comes flooding back. This should be a time to bask, to enjoy the fact that, yes, Callie Torres is in my bed, and, yes, she is naked, but all I feel right now is panic. What did we do? Will she remember? Did I take advantage of her? I'm sure that giving into her wouldn't normally constitute 'taking advantage', but we had been drinking. She was much more drunk than I was. Will she see it that way?  
I try to slide out of her grip, but her arm tightens around my waist and I know - I just know - she's awake.

"Stay." She mumbles the word sleepily, and suddenly I feel sick to my stomach. What if she isn't fully awake? What if she thinks I'm Mark? Does she cling to him in the mornings the same way she's clinging to me now? I try again to pull away from her. "Erica. Stay." Well, that answers that question, but it inspires a lot of others. I don't know how to do this. I never thought I'd be in this position.

"Callie. We have to go to work." She snuggles closer to me, and I can't swallow the moan that escapes as her full breasts push against me.

"Don't wanna. Sleepy." She drops a light kiss on my shoulder, and I know I could wake up like this every day. It's a kick in the guts when I realize, again, that I can't; that she's not mine to hold. It hurts like the first time every single time. I keep re-opening the wound. I keep letting her re-open the wound. I've never been this stupid in my life, but Callie makes me do things I never imagined. This is just the latest in a long line.

"I know. But who's fault is it that we had all of an hour's sleep?" I sound bitter - and I am. I'm bitter that she shows me glimpses of what I could have, and then tears it away again.

"Yours."

"What?!" This time I do pull away from her, almost leaping out of bed in my indignation. I spin to face her, part of my brain cataloging how amazing she looks against the cream sheets on my bed; sleepy, her hair ruffled. It's only when she hums appreciatively that I realize I'm standing in front of her, hands on hips, completely naked. "How is it my fault?"

I reach for my robe, needing something to hide behind as I feel embarrassment heating my skin. She sits up as I slip into the robe, unashamed by her nudity. And why would she be? She's so beautiful. I hate myself for responding to her in the awfulness of this morning. I wished for us to cross the line, but now we have, I want to take it back. It's going to be so much harder to watch her live her happy little married lie now I know how it feels to touch her. I feel every little thing she did to me, see everything I did to her as she watches me, a hint of amusement in her gaze. If I'd let myself think about the morning after in all my fantasies, this isn't the way I would have expected it to go.

"Erica-"

"What?" I'm truly angry now. I can't take this. I need to get away. I don't know where I could possibly go - it's my apartment, after all - but I need to escape.

"You're beautiful."

"Don't even try it, Torres!"

"It's true. I can't resist you."

"Try! We can't... I can't... This is wrong, Callie. You're married."

I watch her deflate as the truth is spoken, and I wonder, somewhere beneath the anger and confusion, just how happy she can possibly be if it's so easy for her to forget that.

Grabbing the closest clothes to me - last night's dress - I literally flee the room.

"Erica!"

"Get dressed, Callie!" Slamming the bathroom door behind me, I slump against it.

What have we done?

***

Even though I know that I should probably arrive at work dressed in something other than last night's outfit, it's the only clothing I have in the bathroom. I'm not sure if Callie will still be here when I emerge, but, if she is, I need to have clothes on, so I slip into the dress before I head back to my bedroom.

Callie is still here.

Thankfully, she's clothed now too. It makes it easier to have the conversation that I know we need to have. She's sitting on the side of my bed, her head cradled in her hands, but the second I step into the room, she brings her eyes up to meet mine. I can't read the emotions that are swirling within them, but, though I look for guilt, it's not there.

"Erica, I-"

"Don't."

"We need to talk about this."

"We got drunk. We had sex. It happens." The matter-of-fact tone gives away nothing of my thoughts. It doesn't tell her that last night was one of the best nights of my life, simply because I have never responded to another person quite the way I do to her. It doesn't tell her that this morning is killing me, and all I want to do is curl up on my bed and cry. It doesn't tell her that I'm terrified that I might be falling in love with her, that I'm in too deep, and I know that I'm the one who'll get hurt here. We'll all hurt... but ultimately, I can only lose in this scenario. I've slept with bi-curious straight girls before. I've never been this invested, but I've been their fun little experiment before they go running back to men. Sometimes I think that this is more than that for Callie, but experience tells me that she's never going to choose me over him.  
I walk over to my closet, digging through it for more work-appropriate clothes. Pulling out black pants and a green sweater, I turn. Callie is standing right behind me.

"It doesn't just happen, Erica. This doesn't just happen to me."

"I seem to remember you starting it."

"Exactly!" She throws her arms up in the air, then she rips the clothing from my grasp and throws it onto my bed. I watch its trajectory to avoid looking at her. "I didn't mean for this to happen... but I'm not sorry that it did."

"Well, I am." I'm not. Even with the anger and confusion and everything else that I can't quite put a name to, I can't be sorry that I know how she feels, how she smells, how she sounds, how she tastes. I can't regret it, even though I know that I should.

I know that I will.

"Don't be like this. Please don't be like this." Her voice is shaking, and a part of me hates that I might be hurting her right now, but I force the feeling to the back of my mind. The only way I can come out of this without losing who I am is to shut down the emotion.

"Can you stop with the Dr. Hahn bullshit and be Erica?" She grabs my shoulders as we speak, and my body responds to the contact, even as I continue to avoid her gaze. "I don't know what this means, but I wanted it. Erica, please, please believe me. I can't help but want you. And I know you want me too."

I take a deep breath and let myself look at her. The over-riding emotion on her face is sadness, and I hate that I'm the one who put it there. "I do. Callie... God help me, I do. But I don't know how to do this. I can't do this. I can't have a part of you. I just... I can't."

"I think that's the first honest thing you've said to me all morning."  

***

We don't change our clothes in the end. The story she told Mark settles that for us. Not to mention that it would be a little weird if we show up at work together and I'm dressed normally while she's in her dancing outfit. I don't know how we can even try to cover how deeply we're entwined now, but we have to try.

We're quiet in the car on the way to work. I'm not sure I should really be driving, and I really shouldn't be performing surgery today, but I've worked on less sleep before. I've done days without a break, I can deal with an hour's sleep, a slight hangover and an aching heart. I can.  
I have to.

We don't speak at all until we're a block from the hospital. I break the silence, knowing that we need to at least present a 'normal' front for our colleagues. Since we agreed to be friends, we've been inseparable, and I can't deal with the questions and rumors that are bound to arise if they see the awkward silences, or we spend the day avoiding each other. At least, that's the reason I tell myself. I refuse to admit the real reason, even to myself. "Coffee?"

"Only if you're buying." She offers me a nervous but cheeky smile. I can't help but smile back.

"If that's what you want."

I find a place to park and buy her coffee from the stand near the doors of the hospital.

"So, uh, you ever gonna try sunrise yoga with me?" She's trying, I know she is. She wants to lighten the mood, prove to me that we can still be friends. With everything that's happened, we can still be friends. There's a new undertone to it now, but our friendship is real. It always has been.

"I don't think so." I smirk at her to let her know that I understand what we're doing.

"Oh, come on. It's fun. I promise you, you've never felt so relaxed."

"Contorting my body into unnatural positions? I don't think so." The fact that I could watch her flits through my mind, and though I'm outwardly laughing at the idea of me going to yoga, inside I'm wondering if it really is such a crazy idea. We step into the hospital, catching the attention of plenty of people as we walk by laughing.

"I am so not doing that."

"You so are gonna do it."

"I'm so not!"

We're interrupted by a voice I recognize all too well.

Yang.

"Callie, Callie, Callie..." I leave Callie to deal with it. I do not volunteer to spend time with Yang. I can't help but hang around waiting for Callie though. I pretend to be looking at charts at the nurse's station. The truth is, despite it being a technically demanding procedure, I can do the Ross Procedure in my sleep. There's nothing unusual, no extra danger signs with this patient, so it should be a textbook surgery. I don't need to see the chart. I just want a few more minutes with Callie.

I can't hear what they're talking about, but it's only moments before Callie turns round and heads towards me with a smile plastered across her face, even as she rolls her eyes to let me know what she thinks of whatever Yang had to say. We head off down the hall doing a wonderful impression of people who didn't sleep together last night.

The mood tightens around us though, when we see Mark. Callie tenses and looks at the ground. Mark hasn't seen her, and she doesn't look at me. With a sigh, I turn away from her. I don't want to see what happens here. I don't need the images running through my mind. "I'll see you later, Cal."

I take off to my office so fast I'm almost running.

***

I almost manage to get all the way through rounds without seeing her again. Fortunately, my resident today isn't one of the dysfunctional group that surrounds Grey. I don't know how I almost always end up with one of them to assist me, but it's been so long since whenever it last was I didn't, that I'd actually forgotten other residents exist. I'm being drawn too far into their little drama club. I have to do something about that.

My pager bleats just as I'm asking one of the interns to present on the last case of my rounds. 911 to the ER. I leave my resident in charge, and rush down there, my heart pumping faster. This is why I love surgery. It makes me feel so alive, fills me with adrenaline. When I get to the ER, Callie is hanging around. She's not on my patient, but she's working on his brother. I flash back to last night, and to cover the shiver, I bark out "What happened?" to whoever happens to be listening. Not surprisingly, it's Yang that answers. I get away from them all only to be sucked right back in. Just what I need.

"52 year old male, attacked by a bear." A bear? Really?

"Injuries?"

"Being established, but it looks like a complete evisceration right now. We're not sure about other injuries."

I step into the room, watching as Bailey,  Yang and Karev work on the patient. I need to establish how I'm going to approach this. Just looking at him, I can see that his chances of getting through this are slim. We all need to be on our toes and focused, and I'm not sure that I'm ready for this today. I take a deep breath as I listen to the conversation, hoping that it will ground me in this moment.

"He just touched it, he just... put his hand out." I can't figure out how he ended up in this position. It doesn't make sense that a man of his age would be stupid enough to put himself into a situation where he could be mauled by a bear.

Karev's voice echoes the incredulity I feel as he responds, "He touched a bear?" Okay, so maybe this wasn't the patient's fault.

"A cub. And then the mother came-"

"Bet she did." I've witnessed Bailey's mother bear mode. I know she knows what she's talking about. It's been weeks since the surgery on her son, but the words she said to me afterwards still sting.

"Why would he do that?" We can't answer that question for him. It's exactly what we're all wondering. I'm sure there are neurological conditions that would cause such stupid behavior, but my main aim is to make sure that this man lives. It's not my place to wonder about the whys and wherefores. I can feel my mind slipping back to this morning, back to last night, and I have to do something. I tune out the conversation around me evaluating the patient's condition.  

"Okay, get me a chest tube tray." While one of the interns in the room runs to get the tray, and Webber decides to enter the room, I check the patient's pulse and heart rate. Listening through the stethoscope, his heartbeat reminds me of mine when Callie first kissed me last night. I shake the thought away. I need to be focused. I don't know how long it will be before this man is stabilized for surgery, but I know that, at some point today, he will need me. I have to be focused. I have to be collected, and in full control of myself. This is the last time I will think of that today. It settles me, even though I know as I'm thinking it that I'm lying to myself. Callie makes me do that a lot.

"Are you going to put me under?" A broken voice brings me back to reality, and I look down at the man on the table. There's so much damage, and none of this is his fault. I wonder if I'm projecting the hope in his voice onto him, finding metaphors for my situation inside of the worst day of this man's life. That seems to happen all the time in this hospital. I have no idea how just the right traumas seem to fall upon us to shed light on our personal or professional lives. Maybe they don't. Maybe this is the way all surgeons see their work. Maybe it's where we find meaning. We might always just be reading things in, seeing what we want to see.

Whatever it is, I'm seeing myself in him as I reply, "Sir, it'll be the best thing that's happened to you all day."  

I wish someone could take my pain away that easily.

***

After we decode the extent of the damage, we realize that there's nothing I can do for him at the moment. I have a surgery scheduled, so I'm a little relieved that I don't have to try and juggle both. If the patient - Mr Robinson - needed a cardiac surgeon, I'm sure his injuries would be more demanding than the procedure I have scheduled, and I don't think I'm ready for demanding yet today. I can't be the reason that this man dies, and if I was needed in that OR, the chances are high that I would be. This is why I don't mix business and pleasure, but I think it's well established at this point that Callie makes me break all my rules. And I'm thinking about her again. It's the last thing I need to do.  
Webber, Bailey, Yang and Karev are scrubbing in when I join them in the scrub room. I may not be needed for this surgery, but there are still enough signs that worry me that I want to keep a close eye on how he's progressing. I want to know that I'm as prepared for anything that goes wrong with Mr Robinson as I possibly can be. If I have to think on my feet today, I could so easily miss something. I'm tired, I'm angry, I'm confused, and most of all, I feel a pain in my chest that makes me think that maybe I'm going to need my expertise today.

I speak directly to Webber, looking through the window into the OR as the nurses finish prepping for surgery. "I have a Ross Procedure, but I want to keep a close eye on his chest tube outputs and blood pressure. What's the game plan?"

"He's a set up for overwhelming sepsis, so we're going to deal with the life-threatening blood loss and get out of there. We can't touch him until he's stable."

Once again, I'm drawing parallels in my mind. I don't know what Callie wants, but she's married, and until she's out of that situation - if she ever is - I shouldn't touch her. It's not often that I have to tell myself to leave something alone more than once, but I have no idea how many times today I've already told myself to stop thinking about her and what we did. I have a feeling that it's going to continue.

"I'm in OR four, can you make sure I'm getting hourly updates?" On the surface, I'm perfectly composed, but underneath, my emotions are completely out of control. I can't believe what an idiot I'm being. Maybe I have more in common with this man's brother than with him.  

"I'd be more than happy to update you on his condition." Yang's too enthusiastic. I'm sure she's jumping at the chance to 'impress' me, but I don't think she's really realized that her best chance of doing that is to just do her job without kissing my ass every damn second.

"Fine." I leave with no further preamble, but I can still hear Karev before the door closes behind me completely.

"You don't get points for sucking up to an attending, Yang."

It's the smartest thing I've ever heard him say.

***

My Ross Procedure is a little unusual as it's for an adult woman, but, for once, the slight abnormality makes the surgery easier. I'm harvesting the pulmonary valve when Yang brings me the first update on my patient. It's delicate work; possibly the most delicate part of the procedure. If I don't get this part right, the whole surgery will collapse around us. I glance up as she speaks, but quickly turn back to focusing on making meticulous, small snips with the scissors, trying to free the valve without injuring the underlying arteries.

She rattles off the patient's chest tube output and the medication that he's needed for his blood pressure, but I hear nothing that causes me any concern. I'm a little harsher than I probably should be in response, but I'm pissed today. More angry than I really should be, and it's not fair of me to take  it out on Yang, but I do it anyway. I don't really understand why. "Alright. I'll look forward to another scintillating report in an hour."

She leaves just as quickly as she arrived, and I easily forget that she was ever here as I lose myself in the familiar routine of scalpel and scissors, patching and stitching. By the time she brings me the second update, I'm as sure as I can be that this surgery will go smoothly. I'm separating the coronary arteries from the aortic wall when she races into the room.

I know what's going on here. They've all been running around the hospital for the last two weeks in a competition that they think we don't know about. I'm sure Yang is winning. She - like me - wouldn't accept anything less.  I finish making sure that there's enough surrounding tissue free that I can easily sew in the graft and glance up at my annoying shadow.

"Mr Robinson is doing better. We were able to DC the Levophed, and he's intermittently awake and lucid. His chest tube has put out a hundred CCs since I last saw you, and I'll be back in a hour with another update." She rattles it all off so quickly that I can't resist the temptation to call her out on it.

"Is somebody chasing you, Dr Yang?"

"Excuse me?" They really think we don't know what's going on. It's amazing. Some of the other attendings - most noticeably Sloan and Shepherd, actually have money riding on who wins their 'secret' competition. I'm certain Yang is the frontrunner. As much as she annoys me, she's a capable surgeon. She may even become great if she spends less time chasing cardio.

"What are you racing around for?"

"Uh, no reason."

"No reason?" The incredulity is clear in my voice. "Not because you're running towards the finish line of this surgical contest?" The shock is clear on Yang's face that I know about it. Unfortunately for her, I also know what the prize is, and it will do neither of us any good for her to win it. She'll end up with an even less rounded surgical background than she already has, and I might end up killing her.

"Oh, that. Yes."

"Are you winning?"

"Yes, once I finish my sutures on Mr. Robinson." I don't know if what I'm about to do is going to make any difference, knowing as I do that her fellow residents can be horrifically incompetent.

"Oh, that's too bad. I was going to let you watch me put Mrs. Witowsky's new valve in. But if a contest is more important than a cardiac surgery, so be it." I'm playing on her desperation to become me, and I'm sure that there are people who would disagree with my actions, but I don't care. It's one part taking out my frustrations on an innocent bystander, and two parts what I feel I have to do so that Yang can one day fulfill the potential we all know she has. A great surgeon has to know more than just the one organ. She knows cardio, but other specialties? She has no idea. If she wins Bailey's ridiculous prize, she'll spend the next three months following me around like a puppy, and I know it will negatively impact her education.

"I'd be happy to watch, Dr. Hahn." Even as she accepts, I know she's hating me a little, but sometimes in this job, you have to just accept that. She thinks I'm harsh now, but one day, she'll thank me. The day that she's in a surgery and something unexpected happens that doesn't directly affect the cardio system, but she has to deal with it anyway? She'll thank me for ensuring that she got the rounded education  
that she's here to have. Once again, I'm doing the job the Chief should be doing.

***

Between surgeries, Callie catches me in the hall. I'm not sure how to face her right now. I've been trying to push her - and last night - out of my mind all day, but it's been a struggle, and as soon as I see her with nothing immediate to run away and attend to, it all floods back.

"Erica!" She sounds happy to see me, and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. It might not be fair, but none of this is fair. It's a disaster. I can't be with her, but I know things I shouldn't - not least the way it feels to wake up in her arms.

"Dr. Torres." I see the uncertainty on her face at the greeting. I've rarely called her that since the morning in the elevator. The morning when all this seemed so complicated - and yet, complicated hadn't even reared its ugly little head. I long for the days when I had no idea if she could ever reciprocate my attraction.

"Can I have a moment?" I have to give her points for persistence. Anyone else would have taken one look at my body language, heard my tone of voice, and ran away. Not Callie. Maybe because she's seen what's underneath the doctor mask, or maybe it's because she knows I can't resist her. Maybe it's both. Whatever it is, she gently touches my wrist, guiding me into the nearest room. Fortunately, it's a conference room, and not an on-call room. I still don't really look at her.

"Are we okay?" I don't know what to make of her tone. I don't know how to answer. I want us to be okay more than I can stand, but I don't honestly know if we are. "Erica?"

I can't form words, so I just nod, still not looking at her properly. She's so pretty it hurts, and I have to focus on anything but that right now. I don't know if I cherish or regret making love to her, but I do know that I'm becoming too reliant on her. I'm too invested, and I'm going to get my heart broken. The best thing I could do would be to break all contact with her, but I can't. It's something I wouldn't have hesitated to do in the past, but there's a connection here that it's impossible to ignore.

She studies me for a moment. "Clearly we're not. Talk to me."

I close my eyes, letting out a shuddering breath.

"Erica, please look at me." She sounds small, her voice beginning to break, and I know she hates this as much as I do. I don't know if I can talk to her right now, but I know I can't stand to hear her like this. I open my eyes, finally looking at her, and clench my fists to stop myself from reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.

"I don't know what I'm doing." I say it so quietly that I don't think she can possibly have heard me, but clearly she does because she steps into my space and wraps me in a loose hug. I breath her in, hating how right it feels to be in her arms. I don't know if last night was a one-time thing for her, or if she wants to do it again, but I think both would kill me. I'm heading straight into a broken heart, and even as I can see it coming, I'm powerless against it. I can't take the steps I need to in order to avoid it. If I continue to be her friend, it will hurt me, but if I don't, it will hurt her. And I can't do that.

"Shh." Her hand strokes my back in a gesture that I'm sure is supposed to be soothing, but it sets my nerve endings on fire. I hate this. "It's okay. I don't know either."

I laugh wryly. "We're idiots."

"I won't argue with you. It's real, isn't it? Whatever this is." I don't have anything to say, but I feel uncomfortable, even as I know that being in her arms is the most comfortable place I've ever been. I've never had to deal with this before. Sure, I've wanted people I can't have, but never like this. I extricate myself from her embrace, taking a step back from her. I need to think clearly, and I can't do that when she's touching me. I'm not sure I can ever do that when she's the subject of my thoughts.

"Callie... I don't know what this is, but you're married."

"I know." Regret is clear in her tone. I don't know what she's regretting though. Is it sleeping with me... or is it her marriage? There's clearly something not quite right about their relationship, but I have no idea what it is.

"We shouldn't do this."

"I know."

"We're going to though, aren't we?" I don't know what I want the answer to be.  

"I don't know. I don't wanna hurt anyone, Erica."

"I don't think you can avoid that." I want to tell her to leave Mark. I want to tell her to leave me alone. I want to tell her all kinds of things, but nothing comes out.

"You're already hurting, aren't you?" I knew she was insightful. I didn't know how much she could see though. I didn't know that she knew how entangled I've let us become. I don't answer her. though. I don't need to. It's written all over my face.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. Tell me what I'm supposed to do." I don't think I can have her halfway. I don't think I can watch her live with him, while she loves with me. My morals have never given the fight this easily in my life though. I'm starting to believe that I need her. When I don't speak to her or see her for longer than a few hours, it feels wrong. I don't understand it, and I hate myself for even considering what I'm considering.

"I don't think I can, Callie. It's your decision to make." If she chooses him, it might kill me. I've never fallen like this before. I'm not ready to call it love yet, but it's close. Too close.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight? Just... as a friend? I need to figure this out." The nerves are clear in her voice, and it takes me a moment to decide that I can give her time. I can let her sort through her feelings. I don't have to decide anything right now. With the joy of making love to her still so fresh in my mind, I can't be objective. I can't beg her to leave him, and I can't take myself out of the equation. Whatever we're going to do about this connection between us, it doesn't have to be decided now.  Maybe it shouldn't be.

Forcing a shaky smile, I nod at her. "Where?"

"My place? Mark's working late, and we probably don't need an audience." I know why she's not suggesting we go to mine, and even though the last thing I want to do is spend time in the place that she calls home with Sloan, I can respect that. My apartment has already been proven as somewhere we can't control ourselves. It was getting close even before last night. And she's right that we don't need an audience. Maybe the fact that Mark could come home at any second will stop us from doing anything stupid. We've already shown that we can't.

"Okay."

She lets out a deep breath, smiling weakly at me. "Okay."

***

Dinner is awkward, the air heavy with all the things we can't say. It's not until we move to the living room that we loosen up.  
"So, where is Sloan tonight?" I don't know why I'm bringing him up, and I can't keep the disdain from my voice.

She ignores the tone though. "Surgery. What else?" She laughs just a little. We both know how that one goes. She sits on the couch and motions for me to sit too, but I choose the couch on the other side of the coffee table. I don't want to get too close to her. I can't read her gaze as she sips her wine, but she doesn't protest, so I know that she knows what I'm doing.

We talked about work over dinner, so I don't want to try and bring it up again now, and I don't know what to talk about with her anymore. I don't know what's safe. She doesn't quite seem to have the same problem though.

"Hey, you remember when we got to work this morning? And Yang wanted to talk to me. I think she wants to be hanging out with you."

"Really? Huh."

"Never gonna happen, right?" She giggles. Of course she knows it won't.

"In her dreams, maybe."

"She wants me to 'put in a good word for her.' You know, since she let me live with her. Let... she couldn't afford rent on her own."

"You never did tell me how that happened. You living with Yang. I still can't see it."

"It was nothing, really. She just needed someone to help her with rent, and I needed a place to stay that wasn't the hospital basement-"

"The basement?" I know my disbelief is obvious. She lived in the basement? She's an heiress, that's the last place I could ever imagine her living.

"Yeah. The basement."

"Why?"

"Traumas. I was there all the time. I saw the best traumas. If they needed a resident, I could basically choose my cases. It was awesome."

"And the Chief let you live there?"

Callie glances down at the table, and I can't help but admire her as she tries - and fails - to look sheepish. There's a flush on her cheeks that I know can't just be because she chose to live in a dingy hospital basement, though. She's so beautiful. I shut the thought down before it goes any further. Right now, I can't afford to be thinking about that. I need to let her decide what she wants, and if I think about that, I'll start thinking about other things, and my self-control is only so good when it comes to Callie Torres.

"Let is a strong word."

"He didn't know?" Laughter threatens to escape me. How did I end up working at Seattle Grace? I really should have seen how crazy this hospital is when I was just a visitor.

"Not until he caught me dancing down there."

"Oh that must have been priceless."

"It wasn't so bad. Might have been less awkward if I hadn't been half-naked." Now, the look on my face must be priceless. A vision of Callie swaying her hips in nothing but her underwear pops into my head, and I almost groan aloud at the pure sensuality of it, but I force it down. I know it's something I'll come back to later, but she laughs as-she looks at me and continues. "It could have been worse! It was just boy-shorts and a top. It was kind of awkward though. More awkward when George came in and I was sitting on the bed with Webber drinking coffee. He just - the Chief, not George - told me that I couldn't live in the hospital. He had a point. So... Yang."

I can't help but laugh. "I would have gone anywhere but!"

"Yeah, but... you're classy. You never would have been living in the basement anyway."

"I don't know. You have a point about the traumas."  

We freeze, even though we're doing nothing wrong, at the sound of a key in the door. Apparently, Sloan's surgery didn't run as long as Callie thought it would. We look everywhere but at each other as the door opens and closes and Sloan yells "Cal?"

"In here." Her voice is a little shaky, and I wonder if she's as scared as I am that he'll just have to look at us to see what we've done... what we might continue to do. Sloan strides into the living room, throwing his jacket onto a table in the corner of the room, smiling as he sees Callie. It's the same way I smile when I see her, and it cuts me to the core. I hate that we've ended up here.

Callie stands and I'm terrified that I'm going to have to watch her kiss him. She doesn't though, turning her head so that his lips land on her cheek. "You're home."

"Yeah." He looks puzzled until he looks past her and sees that I'm here. "Hahn."

"Sloan." We both tilt our heads in an awkward greeting, and I'm insanely jealous of Callie as she extricates herself from the awkwardness.

"You want wine, Mark?"

"Sure, baby, that'd be great."

Mark eyes me across the room as I turn to watch her go, lust flaring inside my body despite the awful moment as I watch her hips sway.

"You watch her the same way I do."

I turn back to him reluctantly, knowing that I can't defend myself. There's no defense for what I'm helping Callie do to him. I have no excuses. I didn't know about them the first night I kissed her, but everything that's happened since... I've been an eager participant in her betrayal. I can tell myself I'm doing nothing wrong as much as I like, but I am. I'm as guilty as she is.

He seems to read my silence as embarrassment. "I get it. She blows us both away. If it helps, I don't think she's noticed." He's being so damn nice to me. I miss the venomous banter. I feel comfortable with that, but this? This I have no clue what to do with. I want to hate him for everything he has that I don't, but I can't. I can't even look at him. The reality of what Callie and I are doing is sinking in, and I don't like how it makes me feel about her - or me. We both made this decision and, as much as I'd like it to be otherwise, Mark is the innocent party here. I'm the one who's most likely to end up broken and alone by this, but Mark is the one being wronged.

"Erica." His voice is so gentle and I want to rage at him for thinking that I'm weak, but the truth is - I am. When it comes to his wife - God, it hurts even to think it - I'm the weakest person in the world. I feel him sit down beside me, but I don't look up. I'm afraid that he'll be able to read everything we've done in my eyes, and I'm not ready for this. I don't want us to have to face this mess because, when we do, I'll lose Callie, and I don't know what I'll do without her.

"Erica, look at me." His hand on my arm burns me through my clothes, but not in the good way  that the touch of the woman we both love burns. His touch is scorching me with all the truths I'm too scared to face.

If Mark knew me, not Dr. Hahn or Erica-Callie's-friend, he would know that my silence should tell him everything. I don't show embarrassment - I get angry. This is more than that. What he's seeing right now is Erica Hahn being eaten up by guilt. I want Callie to walk back in and rescue us both from this nightmare. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I know he'll drop the issue the moment she reappears, so I stay silent, praying to any and all deities that will listen that Callie will save me. She doesn't and Mark isn't just going to let this drop, so I slowly lift my eyes to his, steeling myself and holding his gaze as long as I can.

He continues to address me the way I imagine he'd speak to a child when he thinks that a tantrum is on its way. It's probably a wiser move than it appears on the surface. His tone would inspire rage in any other circumstances, but I get it. This situation is ridiculous.  

 "Look, I know this is... awkward and I'm probably the last person- well, second to last." He flashes me that annoyingly perfect smile and glances towards the kitchen. "I've been there. I mean, I know what it's like to be in love with someone you can't have. I know it hurts more than anything else in the world... and I understand. I know that it's terrible to watch them be with someone that's not you. And I... that's why I think Callie doesn't know. Because she loves you. She does. I might not understand it, but she loves you and... I'm here if you want to talk about it. Even if the it in question is my wife."

It shouldn't anger me, but it does. He's so confident about his place in Callie's life and he has no right to be. I can't help but scoff at him.  
"Why would I want to talk to you. What do you know? "

"More than you think." For a second, I'm irrationally terrified that they're in this together,; that this is some kind of plot to break me; that they've been laughing at me all along. He sees something in my eyes because he raises both hands as if in surrender. It takes a second, but I look down at the floor again, replaying the sincerity in Callie's eyes when we're alone together. I reassures me that - whatever this is - it's not deliberately cruel.

I glance back up at Mark again to see that he's lowered his gaze too. He takes a deep breath as he leans his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in his palm. With neither of us looking at the other, he decides to keep talking.

"You probably know that Derek  - Dr. Shepherd - is my best friend. I think you called us 'Pretty and Prettier' once. I'd better have been  
'Prettier'."

I try to force a laugh, but he seems to know that I can't really do the verbal sparring right now. Since I started working at Seattle Grace, we've been at each others' throats - and I do enjoy the back and forth, much as I hate to admit it - but I'm seeing a different side to him now. I'm seeing the side that Callie must see... I don't like it.

"Anyway. Before Seattle, we both worked in New York."  

Is it wrong to wish he'd never left?

"You're not the gossip type, so I don't think you know the rest... It's spoken about sometimes, you know, the Meredith and Derek drama."  
I don't understand where he's going with this, but I'm riveted by the melancholy regret that's clear in his tone, and curious about how it relates to the situation he  thinks we're currently in, so I stay silent. I'm almost certain I don't even roll my eyes at the reference to the craziness that is the Head of Neuro's relationship with a resident.

I don't miss the irony that my relationship with Callie could easily eclipse  that little situation for drama if it became public knowledge.  
"Me and Derek, we grew up together. I spent more nights at his place as a kid than I did at my own. We went to college and Med School together. When we were in Med School, Derek met Addison. He told me the day he met her that he was going to marry her."

I've only ever heard Callie mention Addison once, but I know she was the best friend before me. I went home that night wondering if the reason Addison had left was because Callie broke her heart. It's the only thing that I can imagine would tear me from her side. But then, Callie breaks my heart every day and I haven't run yet, so maybe they really were just friends. Or maybe I'm just a fool. I actually get the feeling that Callie avoids talking about Addison as much as possible. I don't know that Mark will shed any light on that, but he's clearly trying to tell me something that he feels is important; something that's supposed to shed light on my situation, and maybe it will. Even though he only has some of the puzzle pieces, his insight could help me. I'm caught between guilt and sorrow, and my heart is beating erratically. I'm so focused on my curious reaction that I barely notice that Mark has gone silent as he stares into the distance.

"Derek's feelings... his claim on Addie... it didn't stop me sleeping with her, it didn't stop me falling in love with her, but in the end... she went running back to him. She was married to him, and she wasn't going to break that commitment." And now I know... now I know what he wants me to understand from this. It makes me angry.

"I think you'd have needed to be in love with Derek to understand, Sloan."

Now Callie saves me from this, when it's already too late. It's typical of my luck recently. She walks back in, and both of us turn to watch her as she walks across the room. It would be laughable if it wasn't so damn sad. She's got a glass and the bottle, and I can't imagine why it took her so long to get them. She reaches us and hands the glass to Sloan, pouring the wine for him before turning to me.

"You want more?" Her voice is shaking, and I drain the last of the wine from the glass, placing it on the coffee table and standing up.

"No, thank you. I think I'd better be going."

"Oh, don't let me chase you away. I'm sure whatever you girls were talking about was scintillating." It's amazing how quickly the compassion drains from his tone as soon as we're not alone. We have an image to protect, the two of us. We match wits verbally for a reason neither of us really understood until recently. He doesn't want Callie to know what we were talking about, and I'm not sure who's benefit that's for. It could be any or all of us. Something tells me that he doesn't feel as secure about their marriage as he should. And I suppose, really, he shouldn't if I think about it. I don't think that thought made sense even to me.

"Sorry, Sloan. Much as I'd like to stay and kick your ass at a round of 'who has the quickest comebacks?' I really do need to go home." Turning to Callie, who's still standing and looking vaguely amused, I let the sharpness fall out of my words. "Thanks for dinner, Cal."  

"I'll walk you out."

We leave the room in silence, and it continues as I retrieve my jacket from the stand near the door. She comes all the way to the elevators with me, the uncomfortable silence accompanying us.

As we wait for the elevator to arrive, she shifts her stance a little before speaking. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. You shouldn't have to see that. I really thought he was going to be later."

"I know. It's okay. Really." Once again, I find myself unable to look at her. The elevator doors open, and I start to step into them, but Callie grabs my wrist, turning me to face her and wrapping her arms around me.

"You are amazing. And I am so, so sorry."

"Me too, Cal. We'll... figure it out. Somehow."

"Yeah." She kisses me lightly on the cheek, and I smile despite myself. She lets go of me, and I step into the elevator, but our hands stay in contact until the space between us is too large, and we both let them drop to our sides.

I could swear that there are tears in her eyes as the doors close. I know there are tears in mine.


	8. Chapter 8

Callie drags me to sunrise yoga. I woke up from a dream about her this morning to find the real her banging on the door of my apartment. I resisted for about 30 seconds, but, ultimately, I can't turn down the chance to spend time with her. As I predicted, I spend the entire class watching her and looking like an idiot.

I don't think the two are connected.

It's torture trying not to look her in the showers after the yoga class, but I do try. I have to let her figure this out on her own, and if I watched the water coursing over her skin, well, could anyone blame me if that's too much to resist?

Despite the sexual frustration, I am feeling shockingly relaxed as we step out of the elevators together onto the surgical floor. "I just had no idea that sunrise yoga would be so intense."

"Told ya." I love seeing her smile. I want to see her smile all the time. It's like a drug.

The antidote is Yang.

"Dr Hahn. I have the 3D ultrasound and the fetal MRIs for today's patient." I share a long-suffering look with Callie. I know she understands at least some of my aversion to Yang, but we've never really talked about it. Even though Callie doesn't know the exact reasons, I know she's frustrated at the interruption too. We were expecting to have a few more minutes together before we have to part for the day. It's getting harder and harder to do. I don't think it would be such a problem if I could have all her free time, but the way things are? Every second is stolen and precious. "Have you decided who's gonna scrub in? Because I diagnosed the mother when she came into the clinic, so-"

"Films." Yang fumbles them before handing them to me. I know that she doesn't know exactly what she did wrong. She probably saw me smiling with Callie and figured that she'd catch me before anything could piss me off, but she intruded on Callie time, and I hate when anyone does that. I think that Angelina Jolie could intrude on my Callie time and I'd want to cut her heart out with a steak-knife.

As I stride down the hall, I'm sure that Callie is probably suffering through a complaint or fifty about me, so I'm surprised at the hand on my shoulder. No one else but her would dare touch me.

"Slow down, Erica." It is Callie.

I open my office door and I'm not sure what's going on when Callie steps in behind me, closing it behind us. I know there's a question on my face, but glancing at the intensity of her gaze, I know what's going on. It's been a few days since our dinner at her place, and we've been on our best behavior for the most part, but the tension has been building higher, harder and faster than it has in the past. We've not taken it past playful flirting and occasional touches, but apparently yoga had the same effect on her as it did on me. After an hour of watching just how flexible Callie is, I'm so turned on I can barely stand it. I was hoping to have a while alone in my office to try and calm down before I have to actually start working, but something tells me that what she has in mind is going to be much more fun. I'm not thinking about anything other than how much I want her, even though that annoying nagging voice in the back of my head is trying to make itself heard.

She smirks at me, her beautiful eyes flashing with mischief, and I don't want to be anywhere but here, right now. I step back as Callie stalks towards me, not really knowing why. She reaches out to me, tugging me into her body with the lapels of my jacket. She leans in towards me, her lips barely apart from my own as she whispers, "So, Dr. Hahn. Wanna give me a check up?"

I swallow hard, sliding my hands around to the small of her back. She feels amazing against me. I've been trying to convince myself that my memory was playing tricks on me, but she really does feel as good in my arms as I remembered. Better, in fact, without the alcohol coursing through my system. I feel my heart pounding out of control as she smoothes my jacket and tangles her fingers in my hair, pulling me into a deep kiss. She traces my lower lip with her tongue, and I open my mouth to her exploration, a moan escaping the moment that our tongues touch. She walks us backwards, lips still connected in the frantic kiss, until I feel the soft leather of my desk chair against the back of my knees. I'm a little surprised she passed the desk, but as I collapse into the chair and she climbs above me, her knees either side of my thighs, I can understand why she did. It's amazing to feel her weight against me, and I don't think my desk would be quite as effective a place for her to do this. Our bodies are pressed together, and I can't move backwards because of the chair. I don't want to though.

She's kissing me hungrily, all teeth and tongue, need and desperation, and I kiss her back with equal intensity, losing myself in her scent, her taste, the way she fits against me as though we were made to do this. I caress her ass, swallowing her moan and pulling her impossibly closer, needing more of her. I nip at her lip gently, immediately soothing the pain with my tongue, and she surges closer, our breasts colliding and tearing a moan from deep within me.

"Oh, God. Erica! Erica, please." The lust in her voice causes a flood of arousal, and I don't know where to start. I want to make her feel about me the way I do about her. I want to claim her as my own, to know that no one has touched her quite the way I do. I need her with a certainty I've never felt before. Tugging at her leather jacket, I forget that we're in the hospital and I absolutely should not be doing this, under _any _circumstances. Callie shrugs her arms out of the sleeves, leaving her in a tight black shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. I stare at her for a moment, licking my lips involuntarily as my eyes peruse the swell of her breasts under the shirt.

"This needs to come off." Gliding my hands down her torso and up under the shirt, I smile at her as she lifts her arms... and she almost falls off the chair. She giggles at me, flushing with embarrassment as I steady her above my body. "Maybe this isn't the best place to be doing this." My voice is deep, and it intensifies the arousal I can see in her eyes. I don't want to stop, but the position is beyond awkward, so I coax her from my lap. When she stands, I join her, discarding my jacket on the floor next to hers and backing her towards my desk.

I cup her ass with both hands, squeezing gently before moving my hands a little lower and lifting her to sit on the edge of my desk. I watch through hooded eyes as she takes off her own shirt before reaching towards me and unbuttoning mine. I don't know where to look. Her breasts are calling to me, clad in black satin that I want to tear from her skin, but she's pinned my arms by sliding my shirt halfway down them. She pulls me into her body, and our lips meet frantically, swallowing each others' moan as our heated skin comes into direct contact. She tangles her fingers in my hair once more, and I free my own arms from my shirt, letting my hands skim across her gorgeous curves until they reach the clasp of her bra, where years of practice comes in handy and I unfasten it in one smooth movement, letting it fall to the floor between us. I step back, eager to look at her, to see what I'm capable of inspiring in her.

There's a slight flush on her chest, and her dark nipples are beckoning me. Her chest is heaving as she tries to keep her breathing steady, and I want nothing more than to make it impossible for her to do that. Kissing a line across her jaw, I bite lightly on her earlobe, loving the way her body bucks closer, and a slight hiss escapes her lips. "Erica..."

I love knowing that she knows who I am, that she's entirely in this moment with me and not lost inside her own head as I drop my lips to her neck and trace a light path with my tongue. She's begging me to touch her, begging me for more, but I want to take my time worshipping her body. Our night together was rushed and a little blurry, and I want to remember every second of it this time. I want to remember every gasp, every whimper, every touch and taste. There's no possible reason for this other than the palpable tension and desire that's always around us, and I love knowing that she wants me because she wants me, not partially because she's drunk.

Sliding my hands up her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin, tasting the slightly salty sheen that's appearing across her chest, weighing her breasts in my hands... it's all perfection, it's all the same and so much more than being with any woman from my past. She's not quiet as I roll her nipples between my fingers, and I have to kiss her to muffle the moans. Still, I want to taste her. I want to know her very essence, I want to claim her with my lips and tongue.

Dropping to my knees, I look up at her, reveling in the pleasure that's written clear across her face. She visibly struggles to open her eyes, and when she manages it, the depth of emotion would be terrifying if I wasn't painfully aware that it's reflected in my own. Her eyes are inky pools of desire, and I want to see them like this every day. I already love coming to work, but if my mornings started out like this every day? Well, I certainly wouldn't complain that it leaves me a little less time to prepare for rounds.

***

Sitting in the conference room a little later, I'm only half-thinking about work. The rest of my mind is busy replaying the sounds that Callie made, and the look of awe and passion on her face whenever I glanced up from between her thighs. I'm curious to meet Addison Montgomery, not only because she's here to assist with a surgery that I've never experienced before, and I love the opportunity to rise to new challenges - and of course to outdo Burke, who I know has never worked anything this rare and complicated - but also because of who she is to Callie, and to Sloan. The potential for insight here is unending, and as excited as I am about this surgery, I'm more eager to learn more about Callie.

She's pretty when she enters the room, but she brings with her the last person I want to see in the midst of my post-coital, guiltless bliss. I avert my eyes from Sloan as he stands in the corner of the room, afraid that if I look at him, he'll see the triumph in my gaze. I know now, without a doubt, that Callie wants me even when she's sober, but I can't let him see that. I think Callie will eventually choose me, but I don't want to push it any harder than I have to. I can't scare her away and back into his arms. As guilty as I feel all of a sudden, I need her. And I'm starting to believe that she needs me too. I have to let her make her own decision, but I think she's happier in her stolen moments with me that she is with him.

Addison holds out her hand and offers me a movie-star smile. What is with the doctors who work in this hospital? Even the visiting surgeons are insanely attractive. This woman would draw me to her under any other circumstances. There's just something about her. But, now, I can't see past my feelings for Callie. "Dr. Hahn?"

"Nice to meet you. Callie raves about you." She doesn't, really, but I do get the impression that they're close, and Addison Montgomery could potentially help me to understand what's going on here.

"She's not exactly quiet about you." We exchange grins once more, before the rest of today's surgical team joins us in the room. We arrange ourselves at the table, Mark at one end, the Chief standing as though to oversee us, Yang and Karev in place near the doors, and Bailey and Addison seem to be comfortable to move around the room at will. Addison studies the chart I memorized last night as our residents present.

"Ectopia cordis. The baby's heart is growing outside of its body in utero." Yang's doing a good job of pretending she's not completely excited by this procedure, but I'm not fooled. This is a once-in-a-lifetime surgery. The chances of anything like this falling into our laps again is almost zero, and it's the reason that Yang is my choice of resident, even though, normally, I avoid her like the plague. I'm not going to let her miss out on something this big, as annoying as she is to me. I know she's as eager for Cardio as I was, and, whilst she needs a more rounded education, she's the only resident that I know will appreciate the unique nature of this case as much as I do. I'm not going to let her forget her place, but I can't keep her away from the OR in this situation. She might think I'm mean, she might think that I don't like her, or that I'm not teaching her, but none of these things are really true.

Even though I know I shouldn't, I zone out of the conversation. I'm following it, but not participating, and if someone asked me a question, I'm not entirely sure I'd be able to answer. It's that weird state between aware and day-dreaming. There are so many things that could go drastically wrong where this procedure is concerned, but this is what I live for. The rush of adrenaline, the knowledge that I'm the only person that could pull this off, that everything relies on my knowledge, my skills, my talent and experience... there are so few feelings in the world that are like this. The only thing that's even come close in recent years is touching Callie, and I _have _to stop thinking like that. Her _husband _is in the room, we're talking about life-threatening birth-defects and complicated, demanding surgeries, and I'm remembering the feel of her hands on my breasts. I have to right my priorities, and fast.

Addison follows Richard over to the monitor beside me, and I know, despite the fact that I'm not really listening, that he's showing her the potential diaphragmatic hernia.

"You and I have a got a lot of work to do on this little guy." Essentially, it is down to the two of us. Everyone else in this room will assist, but Addison and I are the ones who need to be at the top of our game today. Which means I _have _to stop thinking about Callie. I know that the endorphins that flood my body from our morning activities will wear off soon, and if I don't stop thinking about her, I'll be stuck in the less happy thoughts of the two of us. The thoughts that make it clear that I'm _not _okay with this. I'm not okay with her being married. I'm not okay with being her fun little fling, I'm not okay with only being able to touch her and show her how much I care about her when _she _decides it's okay. I'm not okay with following along every time because I don't know when or where or even if the next opportunity will exist. If I let myself get lost in that thought... I don't know that I can do my job. And that scares me more than anything else ever has.

"You up for it?" Addison's voice breaks through my thoughts, and I give her the expected response - even as I know it could be a lie.

"Always."

***

"Something about the guy makes me just wanna punch him out." After our meeting with the parents-to-be, I'm feeling much like Karev about the father. I don't voice it, but there was something so irritating about that man's inability to see how bad things really are. Maybe it's just because Alex Karev and I are both pessimists, and we don't know how to deal with bright and shiny people. Maybe it's just the fact that neither of us are exactly the biggest fan of people in general. Whatever it is, I definitely find myself silently agreeing with the often-rash young doctor with whom Dr. Montgomery seems to have a connection.

"And yet you didn't, for which I am grateful, Karev." Addison sends him on his way with a smile, leaving the two of us alone but for my shadow. I sigh audibly as I turn to face Addison, and, no doubt looking for the same connection that Dr. Montgomery has with Karev, Yang leans in a little closer.

"Hippies. Annoying, huh?" _Not nearly as annoying as you are, Yang_. Not even close, in fact. It's not what I say, but I may as well have.

"Go away." Yang does as she's told, and I immediately feel less chained.

"Hey. How great is she?" The frown turns into a smile immediately when Callie appears from behind me to stand at my side, her hand trailing lightly across my waist before she lets it drop to her side, our eyes trading secrets before she turns to face Addison. I look at her for just a split-second longer than I should, and when I turn to Addison too, she's looking at me as though she's trying to figure something out. I can't be that easy to read, surely?

"She's great." I put a little extra enthusiasm into my voice, both trying to leave a positive impression on the only person that I think Callie might talk to about us, and hide the worry that Addison has already figured us out.

"Did I tell you?" I can't help but smile at the joy in Callie's tone. I don't think I've seen her quite like this before, and I love it. I love seeing her smile so widely, and I so badly want to see that smile every day.

"You told me."

"Did she tell you?" This time the question is directed at Addison, and I wonder if the redhead has any idea what Callie is talking about, because I don't. The only thing I can think of that I would have to tell Addison, I don't think Callie wants me to share.

"Tell me what?" It's relieving that Addison has no idea either.

"Anything? Everything?"

"Does she know you were fired?" The first rule of playing your cards close to your chest? Distraction.

"You were fired?"Huh, seems like I was right about one thing: Callie isn't quite as close to Addison as she likes to act. I don't know what it is, but I get the impression that there might be a history there that Callie is more aware of than her 'best friend' is. I don't think there was a relationship of any kind, but, either Callie had a crush, or Addison plays a bigger part in all of this than just being Mark's ex.

"From Chief Resident-"

"Which, as it turns out..." I turn to Callie with a smile, although I'm still watching Addison watch us from the corner of my eye.

"Is the best thing that could have happened, really." Callie and I laugh comfortably together, and Addison watches on with a look that I can't quite figure out, her voice quiet as she speaks.

"No kidding." The way Addison is watching us is starting to make me feel uncomfortable, and I know I have to get out of here - and I know that Callie was looking for me for our morning coffee that has become not so much a routine as a lifeline in long days and nights of fighting against ourselves.

"Are you headed?"

"Yeah." I love this about Callie and I: sometimes we don't really have to speak to know what the other means.

"Alright, I'll walk with you."

"Okay." Callie offers Addison a smile, and then the two of us are perfectly in sync as we walk down the hall. I can't repress the shiver that runs through my body when she rests her hand between my shoulder blades. It's ridiculous, the way my body reacts to her presence.

"You know, you really are bad at the paperwork part," I tease her, giggling along with her. That's another thing that's ridiculous. I don't giggle - except, with Callie, I do.

"When have you ever seen my paperwork?"

"Never you mind, I-" I'm cut off as Callie glances quickly around us before pulling me into a supply closet and crushing her lips against mine. I open my mouth to protest, but she takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, and my attempt at words turns into a moan as her tongue strokes lightly against mine. "Callie... we're at work."

"We were at work this morning too." She smirks at me, raising her eyebrows, and I can feel myself flush as I flash back to the fun I had this morning driving her completely out of her mind. "Thought I should return the favor." She kisses me again, and five minutes later, I'm up against, the door, Callie pinning me with her body as her hand strokes me through the thin material of my scrub pants. I'm trying desperately to stay quiet, but it's difficult when she's touching me exactly how I need to be touched.

Her free hand slides under my scrub top, lightly stroking my stomach as she moves towards my breasts, and I thrust my chest towards her, needing more of everything. When she tears our lips apart in search of air, my breathing sounds harsh and much too loud in the small room. "Callie... please."

"You feel so good." Her voice is husky, and I can't help but groan in response, pressing closer to her in search of relief. My entire body feels like it's burning, and I want to be engulfed in the flames. If it means Callie touching me, if it means Callie kissing me... I want to burn.

"I want you so much." It's a struggle to get the words out; as it is, they're interspersed with longing moans as Callie teases me and drops kisses across every inch of my neck.

"I'll catch you."

"What?" It's almost impossible to get the word out. I'm drowning in her, and I can't concentrate on anything but her hand against my need.

"Let go, Erica. I'll catch you." She bites down on my shoulder, her fingers finally slipping inside my pants, her thumb rolling against me, and that's all it takes. She swallows my moan with a kiss, and I pant against her, my knees shaking, her body against mine the only thing that keeps me from falling. I need it, her body against me. I want to fall, and maybe I already have, but the way things are? There's no way she can catch me.

It stings even more to realize that in the immediate aftermath of release than it has at any other time. I don't think I can do this much longer.

***

For what must be the first time, Callie doesn't notice me as she carries her tray to the table where Addison sits. Yang intercepts her as she waves at the redhead with a smile almost as wide as the ones she saves for me.

"You're friends with her." I know immediately what Yang's talking about, but Callie seems totally lost.

"What? What are you talking about?" I watch her eyes flicker towards Addison, and I wonder if Callie is really as lost as she seems, or if she doesn't want Addison to catch on to what's really between us. I think Addison might already know, though, if the way she's been studying me is any indication.

"Hahn." Yang's as abrupt as ever. We really can be scarily alike. "She's completely unfair; she refuses to teach me! I got in at Mass Gen, I got in at Johns Hopkins," I didn't know that. "I could have gotten in anywhere, and she won't teach me!"

I glance at Addison, noticing that she's as riveted by the conversation as I am. Yang will probably pay dearly for trying to use my connection with Callie to her advantage, but when Callie speaks, I always listen, so I don't have the chance to think up an appropriate punishment right now.

"Alright, look. Erica... she's a really good listener. She's... she comes off harsh at first, but she's got a really good heart, so just tell her how you feel." I'm amazed by the way Callie sees right through me, but she can't honestly think that the way I am with her is the way I am with everyone. Or the way I've been with anyone before. In fact, I know she doesn't, so I don't know what she means by telling Yang to talk to me. The thing is, if Yang chose the right time and place for once, I would listen. I would tell her what she needs to do to get me to bat in her corner. She won't though.

Callie steps around the younger woman, sliding gracefully onto the bench opposite the woman I've heard so much and yet so little about since I told Callie she was coming up to help out with today's procedure. Yang spins around, hands on hips.

"Tell her how I feel? Well, I don't speak girl." That's another thing in a long list that Cristina and I have in common. I never spoke girl until Callie came along and made those things so easy.

As Yang walks away, Callie watches her go. Addison watches Callie. I watch both of them, longing to know what Addison is thinking - and unable to tear my gaze from the woman I love for too long. Callie turns back to her friend, pulling a face before turning to her lunch. "Sorry about that."

Addison doesn't reply. She just stares at Callie, a knowing look on her face. It takes a second, but Callie notices, casting a wary gaze towards the other woman. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Callie..." Addison draws her name out almost teasingly, and I know what's coming.

"Mmm hmm?" So does Callie, I think.

"Are you speaking the... Vagina Monologues now?" I watch my girl frown as if she doesn't know what Addison's talking about, when the truth is, all three of us do. Callie and I are getting dangerously careless about the truth that underlines our friendship. Today's little interlude in the supply closet proved that. I wait with baited breath for denials: a declaration of Callie's love for Mark, or her love of dirty, dirty sex, with dirty, dirty men - anything that will dissuade Addison's line of questioning. Instead, she tries to buy time. Clearly, Addison is very observant, and Callie is a terrible liar.

"What?"

"I think- Erica, I mean, she seems great. I really do like her actually. I do." I think Addison's pretty great too. "Are you?" I could almost kiss her for asking. Someone needs to bring home to Callie what's really going on, because, when it comes down to it, I think Callie wants me more than she wants Mark.

"That's- that's- that's insane is what it is." I know I'm not the only one of the three of us who doesn't believe a word she's saying.

"Callie... it's okay. Just... do you love her?"

I watch panic flutter across Callie's face as she searches for a way out of the conversation. I see her accept that she can't get out of it. I see her brace herself. It's a long time before she speaks, Addison's hand on hers providing the catalyst. "I don't know. I could."

My heart is beating double time and I know that I've never felt so much hope swell in my chest before.

"And Mark?" It's the question I've been asking myself for weeks. Does Callie love Mark? In all her excuses and explanations, she's never once said 'I can't do this, because I love him.'

"I love him, Addie. I'm just..." My heart is sinking again. "I'm just not in love with him. Maybe I never was."

I watch Callie look up and lock eyes with Addison, see her searching for answers from her friend.

"Then you have a decision to make. Before Mark figures it out for himself. If you want to be with Erica, you need to make the break now, because everyone will hurt more if you don't. But, if you're going to stay with Mark, then you need to be with him all the way. No more Erica thoughts, no more Erica moments, no more Erica touches, or kisses or whatever else you two have done. Are you willing to give that up to save your marriage?" I don't know how Callie feels about that last option, but just the idea of losing her is killing me. And she's not even mine.

Callie stares into the distance. I don't know if she's confused, or if she knows what she has to do. I don't know which of us she's deciding to break.

"Callie?" There's no response. "Choose with your heart."

***

Callie's clearly panicking when I next see her. The happy dance that my heart is doing dies out a little when I see how much she's been shaken by Addison's words, but I greet her with all the professional enthusiasm I normally do in the halls of the hospital. I'm due in surgery in less than an hour, and I need to not worry about this right now. "Torres."

"Hey! Uh, do me a... do me a... do me a favor and put Yang on your surgery." That's definitely panic. Sometimes I hate always being right. I don't even bother trying to ask her what's wrong. I know she won't tell me.

Instead, I offer her a smile, and an answer that's just a shade too eager. "Only if you buy drinks at Joe's tonight." I don't bother to tell her that Yang was already going to be the resident on my surgery. I've let Yang hang on that one all day, but she was always going to be the one who would scrub in. I just enjoy making her squirm. In a completely different way to how I like to make Callie squirm. And dammit, I have to stop thinking about that!

"Done!" It works out well for me, as we walk in opposite ways down the hall. I do exactly what I was already planning to do, and I get to spend time with Callie after I'm finished. I'm almost certain she'll invite Addison along, if only as a buffer between the two of us, and what she's finally admitted - possibly even for the first time in her own mind. Despite my thoughts of _not _doing this earlier today, I know I've got it so bad. With the promise of more time with her tonight, and maybe an opportunity to talk to Addison and get some answers for the myriad of questions I have about Callie and Sloan, I can push it all away long enough to get through this surgery. It's ground-breaking. Even with the distractions that could get in the way, it doesn't take much effort for me to keep focused on it.

  
***

It always amazes me just how many of our colleagues can be found at Joe's at any given moment. Little groups of doctors and nurses spring up everywhere you look as soon as the sun goes down. The advantage this bar has over the other hole-in-the-wall places around here is that it's less than a block from the hospital. When a day has been particularly stressful, there's a huge advantage to that. No cars needed, no worrying about _leaving _cars in the parking lot of a bar somewhere downtown... just a five minute walk and a good glass of wine. It's what I'm indulging in as Addison nurses a whiskey sour and Callie downs shot after shot of tequila. I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself, and I suspect Addison is too - we were successful today, and a newborn baby has a heart that's beating in his chest thanks to the two of us - but Callie is obviously still freaking out. 

I wish I could say that I don't know what has her so worked up tonight, but at least it's loosened her up enough that Addison and I don't have to struggle for conversation while Callie sits in an awkward silence, all of us knowing what's going on between Callie and I, and none of us knowing how much the others know. I smile along with them as they tease each other, and Addison shares stories of California, and that's enough for now. Just being in Callie's presence makes me happy. 

"You're funny." 

"I am. I am very, very funny." Addison offers Callie a smile, and I turn to look at the Latina beside me, longing to place my hand on her arm or to push her hair out of her face, but knowing that I can't. 

"You won't believe what she- believe what she-" Callie's stammering as I notice that she wasn't lying when she told me that she used to eat her hair. Well, maybe fibbing about the _used to _part of the equation. A strand of silky black hair is stuck to her lips, and I know I couldn't stop myself from brushing it away, however hard I try, so I don't bother trying. 

"Wait, wait, wait. Hang on, hang on, hang on. You've got a hair that is caught... caught in your lip-gloss. "The look Addison gives Callie as I lean over and brush my fingertips across Callie's lips to free the hair is calculated, and knowing. She knows she called it right about us, and she knows that Callie wants me as much as I want her. I can see it in her eyes. All three of us know it, but we'll continue to pretend we don't, I'm sure. Nothing quite like an awkward evening with your... something and her best friend to relax after a long, taxing day. "Sorry, you were saying?" 

"I don't know, I'm just very funny." 

"Funny." I echo her, suddenly not sure what to talk about. It hasn't been a problem for the three of us so far tonight, with Callie and Addison teasing each other about the many stupid things they've done, and me laughing happily at them. There's something amazing about watching the person you love be truly happy. And Callie was, until I touched her lips, happy and relaxed and lost in the moment; content to be with her friend, and, well, however she categorizes me. I think it's a little more than just _friend, _but I don't know for sure. I don't know anything really, and it's more frustrating than I ever imagined it could be. But then, I never saw myself as the woman who would let herself get into this situation, either. She did say she could love me, earlier today. I have to hold onto that. 

"Yes, it turns out I am." I think Addison is feeling the tension around us just as much as I am, because she tries for flippant and comes off more tense. Callie downs yet another shot. 

"Apparently." 

"Any of you ladies wanna dance?" There's just a second of uncomfortable silence amongst the three of us, and I'd be relieved for the distraction if it came in any other form than Mark Sloan. Even _Yang _would have been a better option. Suddenly, he's standing beside our table, eyeing all of us briefly, before his gaze settles on Callie, making it clear to all of us that she's really the one he was asking. 

"For the thousandth time, the answer is no, Mark." Addison sounds as annoyed by Mark as I am. I wonder if that's a hangover from when they were together, or if it's something new, and possibly faked for everyone else's' benefit. Is it wrong of me to hope that she's still interested in him, but she tries to hide it? It would make my life so much easier if he left Callie for Addison - and I don't think it would really hurt Callie, which is the only reason I can wish it. As much as this situation is hurting me, and as much as it would kill me to be without her, if I thought that this was hurting her, I couldn't let it happen. 

"Beat it, Sloan." The disdain is clear in my voice too, as I turn away, not wanting to look at him for any longer than I have to. It's true what they say - guilt's a bitch. 

"I'll dance with you." I should have seen this coming. Callie downs another shot, what is that, four? Five? We've been here less than an hour, and she's drunk off her ass. Addison must have shaken her more than I thought she did. I watch her hips sway as she follows Sloan across the room, not missing his triumphant smirk in my direction. He doesn't even really know what game is being played here, but in _his _game, he's winning easily. 

I try not to watch as Sloan pulls Callie closer, and she sways effortlessly with the music. She's so beautiful when she's dancing. It's unbelievable. I'm struggling to keep my attention at the table, but, fortunately for once, Yang brings my attention back to what's happening around me before I can make my feelings for Callie all too obvious. 

"Dr. Montgomery." 

"Hi." Addison seems a little confused as to what Yang wants, but I know she doesn't need to worry - it's me she wants something from. After the junior resident's conversation with Callie this afternoon, Addison should too, but apparently, other things have stuck in Addison's mind. 

"Dr Hahn?" I can't help but roll my eyes as I look at her. 

"Yang." Nothing. "Yang?" I know my tone is irritated, but, really, what does she expect? She thinks that outside the hospital, in my down time, is the right time to talk to me about hospital issues? I thought _I _was socially challenged, but I'm a social butterfly compared to this woman. 

"Okay, is it... is it 'cause I'm Asian? Is that your problem? You don't like Asian people?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"Why won't you teach me?" The petulance is showing, and it's not something I appreciate. I think about how to phrase my response for just a second, but I know what it is that annoys me most. 

"You're not without skill. You're not without talent. So... stop seeking my approval. I am not gonna tell you what a good little girl you are. It's not my job. And, frankly, it doesn't make you any better at yours." Burke may have told her how brilliant she is all the time, but it's just not what I'm going to do. Making her feel like she needs to prove herself will make her work harder - and I _really _want to be able to say that I had a hand in training her. As annoying as she can be - and if she cuts out the approval-seeking, the annoyance level will fall - she will make a fantastic heart surgeon in the future. If she lets herself get a general surgery education as well, she may one day be my main rival for the Harper Avery. It'll be nice for it to be someone other than Burke, but I also want to be able to say that I helped in that journey. 

Yang leaves, in another huff, no doubt, and I turn back to my drink, using every ounce of resolve I have to resist the urge to watch Callie's hips move. 

"Geez. Little hard on her, don't you think?" I love that Addison isn't afraid of me. She doesn't defer, she doesn't submit, she's not afraid to call me out on my shit. 

"I think she reminds me of me." We both let that sit for a moment. It's true enough, and I don't need Addison Montgomery to know every one of my secrets. She already knows the biggest one, just because she knows Callie so well. I sip on my wine, watching as Callie's hips weave a seductive pattern for someone who's not me. I'm not sure that it matters that it's Mark. I think I'd be just as jealous if it was anyone that's not me. 

"She's pretty, huh?" Addison

"She's beautiful." It's wistful even to my ears, and the look on Addison's face tells me she knows it too. I know she knows there's something between us, but I don't really know how much Callie has ended up telling her. I watch Callie dance with Mark, my heart clenching painfully as she attempts to show the whole bar just how into _men _she is. I know she's wondering who else sees the truth behind our carefully built facade. If Addison can see it from just one day in our company, how many others suspect? 

I watch the woman I love dance with Mark, and it kills something inside of me. Worse is to come though. Callie throws an apologetic glance over her shoulder as he leads her from the dance floor. I know what's going to happen. I know I won't sleep tonight thinking about it. Not that I've been sleeping so well recently anyway, imagining what she might be doing with _him, _but imagining, and _knowing _are two completely different things, I'm discovering. And I _know _this time. 

I should have known that this was the risk once other people started to see the truth; that, even if it eventually draws her back to me, makes her completely mine... it could put a wedge between us. It's all 'fun' when no one knows, and it wouldn't be the first time that a woman has been interested in me because being with me isn't really cheating... but I thought Callie was different. Her words and actions are different. The way she touches me is different. Everything about her is nothing like anything I've ever experienced before. She knows she's cheating on him, or at least, I thought she did, and that, I thought, was going to make all the difference. It meant that her feelings for me ran deeper than curiosity, experimentation, and lust. I thought it meant she truly cared for me too. 

Maybe I need to reevaluate.

Addison shakes me from my thoughts. I hadn't even realized that she was still here, I was so lost in introspection, but she's looking at me, concern written across her face. "Exactly how in love with her are you?"

"What?"

"Hey, no judgment here. Callie is... pretty amazing. And whatever you two have... or haven't... done... it's not really my business. I just worry about her. I never thought she should marry Mark." 

"Jealous?" 

"No. Well, maybe a little, but only of the married part. It's not... I mean, I know why she did it, but I still think it was stupid." 

"Why did she marry him?" Every indication I've had leads me to believe that she doesn't really love him, at least, not as much as she should - and then she put it into words today. I don't think I've ever had an emotional rollercoaster of a day quite like this one. I've been as high as I can remember being... but, right now, I feel like I've been shoved into the gutter. 

"I don't know if it's really my story to tell. I don't know everything." 

"Trust me. You know more than I do. "

"I saw you. At lunch? You know she doesn't love him." 

"I do." There's no point in denying it. Addison must know that I've been running _that _particular part of their conversation through my mind all day. 

"How much has she told you?" 

"They're married. I saw her wedding picture and... her eyes are sad somehow. She's not happy. Maybe she never was." 

"That's all?" 

"We don't talk about Sloan." 

Addison stares into the distance for a second, sipping her wine thoughtfully as she mulls that over. "No. I don't suppose you do." 

There's still no judgment in her tone, but I feel defensive anyway. I don't quite do my favored 'attack is the first line of defense' thing, but it's almost there. "I didn't know! When I kissed her the first time.. I didn't know about them!" 

"You kissed her?" There's honest surprise in Addison's voice. "Huh. I really thought that would have been her." She continues, answering the question I want to ask. "She's never wanted to be with him. I warned them both, but they didn't listen." 

"Clearly." 

"He's always had a thing for her though. When she broke up with George, he went after her straight away. I don't really know what happened. I didn't know Callie then, and things were strained between me and Mark... but they were sleeping together when we became friends." 

I didn't need to hear that. I'd almost forgotten in the hope of figuring out more about Callie, but now the almost certain knowledge of what they're doing roars back to the surface of my mind. I visibly cringe at the thought. 

"Sorry." Addison looks truly apologetic, and I know she realizes what I'm thinking.

"It's okay." 

"It's not. None of this is _okay. _It doesn't have to be like this. It _shouldn't _be like this. God... I still can't believe she married him." 

"Addison... it's okay. Just... please... tell me why." 

"She got pregnant, and-" 

"She what?!" I yell it, but I don't notice the looks that are surely directed our way, I don't notice our surroundings at all, they're lost behind the white noise that fills my head. They have a child? How did I not know this? How could she not tell me this? I can't be the person who rips a family apart. I... when it was just a loveless marriage, it was different. It was still wrong, but it was different. Now... it has to be over. There's no other option. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but I don't really notice that I'm hyperventilating until I feel Addison's hand stroking my back and hear her voice softly telling me to breath. It's a struggle, but I calm down enough that everyone's attention wanes from me. I know I can't stay here though. 

Without really thinking, I stand up from the table, leaving Joe's on legs that feel like they could collapse at any second. I ignore Addison as she calls after me, and I'm halfway across the parking lot before I notice that I don't have my jacket or my bag. The hospital is less than a block away though, and I can't face going back to the bar, so I keep walking, wrapping my arms around my body against the cold. I'm determined not to cry. It doesn't matter what I want anymore. Callie is a mother as well as a wife, and, even if she sees it as less than a responsibility, I don't. I know what it's like to grow up with a parent who's never around, and I won't help another child live that way. 

I don't notice that Addison has followed me until I feel her hand on my shoulder. Apparently Callie isn't the only one who thinks nothing of casually touching me. I spin around, not sure what I'm expecting. The only thing I can see on her face though is concern. She hands me my jacket, and I try to offer a smile, but I'm sure I'm unsuccessful. 

"Can I finish the story?" I don't think I want to know. I don't think I _need _to know. 

"Does it matter? If there's a kid involved-"

"There's not." 

"But-"

"I know. Can we talk about this _inside _somewhere?" 

I don't want to go back to Joe's and we're about equidistant between there and the hospital. "My office?" Addison nods and we walk together in silence. I'm trying to figure out what Addison is trying to tell me, but I can't make sense of it. She married him because she got pregnant, but there's no child? I'm sure when Addison explains it, there'll be a simple answer, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it could be. 

Even with the uncertainty in my head and heart, the hospital soothes me a little. It always has. There's a simplicity in the familiar hallways that never change whatever hospital you happen to be in; an underlying order that can't be completely destroyed, even in this den of iniquity. You can't be overdramatic in a hospital - if someone says it's a matter of life and death, it probably is. Despite the unpredictable nature, there's a routine that can't be ignored. 

We stop for coffee before I lead Addison to the room where so much of my Callie drama has played out. A month ago, she told me she was married in this office. This morning, I made her scream my name on top of the desk in the center of the room, tonight, I'm about to find out the answers to the questions that have plagued me - but I'm not sure I want to know anymore. I sink into the chair that Callie pinned me in this morning, and the images that flash across my brain torture me. This is all so fucked up. All of it. Waving my hand towards the chair on the other side of the desk, I watch as Addison settles herself opposite me, the other woman looking much calmer and composed than I'm sure I do. 

We sit in silence for a moment, both of us staring into our coffee cups. As wonderful as caffeine is though, it's not going to give me any answers. "Tell me." 

"Erica, are you okay?" 

"No." There's no point in lying. She knows as well as I do that it's a long, long way from where I am to okay. "Please... just... tell me?" 

"I don't think she wanted it. She, um, she couldn't get an abortion, but she was going to put it up for adoption. She wants kids one day... but she wasn't ready, and she didn't want them with Mark. But... he found out about it, and he begged her." 

"I think some of it was my fault. The day she found out she was pregnant, she tried to talk to me, but... it was the day I would have been having Mark's baby, if I hadn't had an abortion because I wanted to stay with my husband. Who left me anyway. I wasn't listening to her, and I... I didn't know, but I changed her mind. She couldn't put Mark through that again. Even though she wasn't going to do the same thing to him, she couldn't take his child away from him again. She has a good heart, Erica. If she's doing this with you, she's doing it because she cares, not just for some kind of thrill. "

Maybe in this hospital, you _can _be overdramatic. God forbid that just one of us wouldn't have a totally inappropriate relationship with a fellow doctor. 

"She wanted to love him. She was carrying his baby. I think maybe she thought she could grow to love him. After all, he's everything that she ever thought she'd want. He's kind, he's gorgeous, he has a good job-" I screw up my face in disgust, and, despite the somber moment, Addison laughs a little. "It's what most women want, Erica. She's always been afraid of what _not _having that means."

"Are you saying-"

"I don't know. Maybe. That's a question for her though, don't you think?"

"Then why did she marry him?"

"She was having his _baby _Erica. He wanted to do it right, and... he'd fallen in love with her. He flew down to Miami to ask her parents' permission before he asked her, and when she said yes... he was the happiest I'd ever seen him. She wanted to do it quietly, just him and her and a couple of witnesses, but Mark wanted a big production. When she found out her parents knew, they agreed to have a small ceremony, just family in Miami. It was never really what she wanted, but she didn't know why. She wanted to make them happy, but I think she made herself miserable."

"Oh, Callie..." It's barely a whisper, but I hurt so much for her. I hurt so much for us. Things could be so different, so easily. "How did they keep it quiet? In this hospital?"

"It was all very quick. And Callie never got to tell everyone she was pregnant. Just before the three month mark... she miscarried. It devastated them both. I think Callie stopped trying to love him then, the reason to try was gone, but she couldn't hurt him anymore. She lost his baby. And I'd killed his baby. She wanted him to still have something."

I don't know what to say to that. My heart is breaking for Callie in this moment. I don't really want children, but I can't even imagine how much pain losing your child must be. Especially when you signed your life away for it. And Mark... he's not exactly my favorite person, but I guess he really is a good guy. He's not the sleeps-around, arrogant, cock-sure asshole the rumor mill made him out to be, and my pain isn't all for Callie. 

Why can't things ever be simple? 

"Erica? I know I can't tell you what to do, but... please don't let her hurt Mark more than she has to." 

"How can you possibly know that he's the one who'll get hurt? " 

"I know her. And the way she looks at you... I know her." 

Can this much anger and sadness and _hope_ really co-exist? 


	9. Chapter 9

My day started badly and only got worse. The sick feeling in my stomach reminded me that Callie left me with her friend last night without protest, and the soreness of my eyes reminded me of the tears I cried over that and Addison's revelation once I was alone. I don't even know how I managed to drive home, I could see so little through the tears. I've never been a crier, but Callie seems to reduce me to tears without even trying.

I've been hearing Preston's name whispered in the halls as I pass by, and, once I get to my office, I discover why. Preston fucking Burke beat me - undeservedly - again. It's like being back in Med School again, only so much worse because I thought this was over. The Harper Avery should have been mine this year - I know it, and I know he knows it too. I'm forever in his shadow, and this hospital doesn't help. I don't know why I decided to take this job sometimes. Yes, Head of Cardio at the number two teaching hospital in the nation is prestigious, and will get me to Hopkins that much faster - but it can't be worth the sideways comments about Burke. And I'm on the verge of throwing everything away for a woman. The woman who, if I'm honest, played a bigger part in my coming here than I'd like to admit.

I remembered her from the second of my ill-fated surgeries as a visitor; her doe eyes and stunning features making an impression. even as she tried desperately to keep a part of George O'Malley's attention. I shouldn't have noticed her at all, but, though she wasn't the biggest reason, I did remember her when the Seattle Grace board made their offer. Prestige? Check. Upwardly mobile? Check. Generous compensation? Check. Nice 'scenery'? Definite check. If I'd known that she'd become like a drug - dangerous, addictive and needed - I would have stayed at Pres another few years. Now though, I'm in too deep and can no longer deny that I'm in love with her. And that hurts more than losing the Harper Avery. It was all supposed to be so simple. Find out if she was interested, and if she was, pursue her until I could call her mine. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I stare at the announcement on the cover of JAMA for a long time, but it takes up less than half my thoughts. Apparently, the most pressing thing on my mind is the conversation I had at this desk last night. Callie and Mark. Mark and Callie. It's all such a mess. Much as I hate to admit it, I understand their relationship so much better now. I know why, despite the fact that she's obviously not happy, Callie has stayed with him. More than I hate admitting that I kind of get it though, I hate that it makes me love her more. I knew she has a good heart, but this good? I didn't know that. I see what she doesn't though: even without whatever this thing she and I have is, they'll both end up miserable. He might not know it yet - though his veiled warning suggests he does, at least on some level - but Callie doesn't love him. She doesn't love him.

The biggest problem with this new comprehension though is that I can't see her ever leaving him. If she doesn't love him, but she's stayed with him because she doesn't want him to lose everything... as much as I'd like to fool myself, nothing has changed.

It's the sound of interns gathering outside my office that shakes me from my thoughts and reminds me that it's time for rounds.  It's obvious as soon as I join the young doctors and call them to order that Yang has heard the news. She's sullen, but I expect that today's surgical patient will enthuse her. I watch her from the corner of my eye as we make our way round the Post-Op and other Pre-Op patients, totally understanding her lack of enthusiasm. Rumor has it that she performed most of his surgeries for months before he left, including the cardiac auto transplantation that I'm convinced is the main reason that he even got the Harper Avery. It's only when I see Callie walking out of an on-call room, Sloan close behind her, that Yang's silence begins to irritate me.

Turning to the woman who hangs around me so much begging for OR time that she's almost become my shadow, I snap at her. "Yang, am I boring you?" I know my annoyance isn't her fault, but I can't stop myself from taking it out on her. "Because, if you'd rather spend the day in the morgue, I have about fifty cadaver hearts that need to be harvested for my research." Turning back to the interns and Alex Karev - who all actually seem interested, - I continue, "So, Keira Marshalls' protocols?"

"I would love to go to the morgue." Well, that's the last thing I was expecting, but I'm actually impressed. "Thank you." With no more palaver, Yang leaves. I never thought I'd see the day that she wasn't jumping all over herself to impress me, but apparently, this is it. I watch her go, wondering if she's deliberately removing herself from a situation where she could put a patient in danger because she's distracted - and wishing that I could do the same.

I'm loud enough that I know Yang can hear me when  I say to the others, "Let Yang be an example to all of you. There's no shame in grunt work." And next year, I'll get the Harper Avery for sure. I have Burke's invaluable assistant now, and though I won't lean on her like he did, the very fact that he doesn't have her means that I'll be the easy winner. I hope. I feel oddly proud of her as I lead them towards Keira Marshall's room. "Now, let's meet our Mom in a plastic bubble."

It's immediately apparent that Keira's struggling with her situation when we enter the room, and I completely understand where she's coming from. We've both been betrayed by our own bodies and trapped in situations that there's no easy way out of, but at least I do have the solution for her torment. It still pains me to see her tears as I lead my students towards the quarantined area, despite the donor heart I was informed of less than an hour ago.

"Get me out of here, Lucas. I need to get out of here. Get them to let me out of here." It looks like the woman is having a breakdown, and I really can't blame her. I'd go crazy without human contact for months, and I'm not really a people person. I can't imagine the pain that being separated from your lover and children would be. I can't imagine how much it would hurt to be able to look at your family but not touch them. I've never been so relieved that my parents don't live in Seattle, because if I could see them, I'd want nothing more than to talk to them, and that can't happen. And in my situation with Callie? It would be easier if I didn't know what she feels like against my skin, but now that I do know... not being able to touch her would be worse than torture.

"Honey, calm down." Lucas, Keira's husband, is fraught. He's as broken as she is, I think. He's suffering this too. The difference is that he can get some relief, even if it's only to step outside and see the sun, feel the rain, smell the breeze. I'm calmed by the walls of the hospital, and energized by the OR, but I know I'm unusual in that. Most other doctors don't have the primal affinity to the hospital that I do, and I know that some people - maybe most people - hate to be here. We see people at their worst, often on the worst days of their lives. Maybe it's twisted to like being here as much as I do, but it's here that I'm most in my element, it's in surgery that I become something more than the uncomfortable, awkward, lonely woman that I am in every other aspect of my life. Even when I'm with Callie, the woman I love, I'm really alone.

I'm jealous of my patient. If only someone could mend my heart with the skill that I will mend hers.  Gathering the professional facade, I stride across the room with a confidence that I only ever feel in these situations, as Keira notices me and turns her desperation for answers, for freedom, onto me.

 "You said I'd have a heart in three weeks, and it's been eight! It has been eight weeks without touching another human being, and I just wanna..."She's sobbing so hard that I can't barely understand her, and I feel for her. I feel for her, but I have to try and calm her. This is sending her pulse and blood pressure through the roof, and if she doesn't have normal results in the final pre-op tests, I won't be able to do anything to help her today. And I need to help someone.

"Keira, listen to me."

"No!"Maybe I'm not Keira Marshall in this situation. Maybe Callie is. She's trapped by circumstance, by a body that quite literally betrayed her - twice - and maybe I'm the only one who can help her. Maybe I'm the only one who can save her.

"Keira, you need to listen to me." I keep my voice calm and even, knowing that working myself up - the way I'm sure Karev would - won't help right now. Keira Marshall needs to be able to hear me when I tell her that she can get out of here - the plastic bubble, anyway - today. She needs to be able to listen to the instructions I have for her. She needs to do everything that we need to get through in order to perform this transplant successfully, and to be able to tell her that, the tears and histrionics have got to stop - even if, deep down, I want to join her in the desperate tears.

"I want to leave! I wanna hug my kids, and I wanna kiss my husband, and I- God, I'm going crazy in here!" I know I can't really touch her, and this may not help much, but I step forward, sliding my hand into the glove that allows Keira Marshall some contact with the world, even if it is through layers of protective rubber. She doesn't seem to notice, too lost in her disconsolate  pacing, working herself up into an even worse state than she was in before.

"Keira. Come here, Keira, take my hand." I keep my voice steady and forceful, not letting anyone see just how much the despair affects me. She's not feeling cooperative though, and I'm really starting to worry about her heart rate. If she doesn't calm down soon, too many complications could arise, and if I have to break the isolation barrier, she can't have surgery today. And I think I might need her to get this heart almost as much as she does. 

"No" She shakes her head. It's frustrating. There's not much more I can do.

"Keira, take my hand." I lean into the glove a little more, trying for as much reach as possible. She needs something to ground her. Finally, with a deep gulp of air from her oxygen mask, my patient clings to my hand. I squeeze tightly, waiting for her to meet my eyes. Her breathing is evening out, even with this facade of human contact, and I'm amazed by how much reaching out to touch someone soothes the tempest that rages in my own body. It's an incredible thing. I think I'm starting to accept that no person can make it through life alone.

I offer a small smile, and pour all the comfort I can into my grip on her hand. "You are going to leave here soon." She looks at me like she doesn't believe me. I'm not sure I would. I have said that before. "That  is what I came to tell you. We have a heart for you." I watch as a smile spreads across her face, and I can feel it echoing on my own. "We have a heart."

Like I said... I can fix her troubles. 

***

Just a few minutes after leaving Mrs. Marshall's room, my blood is boiling as I stare at the announcement on the notice board. Preston fucking Burke. I still can't believe it. I swear, he does it on purpose. Reading what won him the Harper Avery just makes me angrier. This past year, I've done at least twice the research, my name has appeared in JAMA six times as opposed to Burke's four, and I actually performed all of the surgeries credited to me... what more do these people want from me? Am I supposed to grow a penis?

As I turn away and catch sight of Callie at the nurse's station, I realize that that might actually help in other areas of my life, too. For a brief second, I think about just walking away, but I can't do that. I can't let her think that I'm not willing to fight for her, especially now that I've heard her say that she could love me. As much as she's killing me, as confused as I am about whether she will ever stand up for what she wants, even if that means hurting Sloan... I have to let her know that I'm not giving up this easily. I don't know, but it might be part of the reason she's suddenly all over her husband. They've never been like this before, and the combination of Mark laying down the gauntlet, Callie giving in - again - and Addison's words makes me realize that I'm not going to get what I want and need by being passive. Mark knows it as well as I do: we're fighting each other for the chance to love Callie. He might think he has the advantage... but I'm less and less certain that he does.

"It's because I don't have a penis, isn't it?" I know how she'll take it. I want her to hear it as a commentary on us. Maybe that is even what I'm really talking about. In two steps, I'm standing across from her, trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest as she looks up from the chart she was reading and meets my gaze. Her eyes shift across my face, and, despite her uncomfortable demeanor, I see the same feelings in them as I did in my office yesterday morning. She's getting worse and worse at hiding what she feels for me. It's how we even got into this web of deception, anger and confusion. Today's, not the entire thing. That's a much more complicated story.

"Um..." I watch as she looks past me, and I wish I could read her mind. I wish I could know what she's thinking right now. I let her panic for a moment before I put her out of her misery, continuing on with what I want to believe was my intended meaning. I know though, that any chance to confirm the way she feels, to get inside her head... I know I'll always jump to take them. This didn't really give me any answers. Last night showed me that she's not exactly comfortable around me at the moment. I just wish she'd talk to me about it. I didn't go into this with the intention of any of this happening, and it's a lie if I say that all I ever wanted from her was friendship, but she did become my friend, and the loss of that... it might hurt more than watching her sneak out of that on-call room this morning did.

"I publish more I do double the research. I deserve this more than Burke. It's a big men's club and it's not fair." Relief washes over her face, and I have to hope that, maybe, she's just not ready to talk about this yet. I have to hope that, once she's finished convincing every member of the hospital staff that she's straight as an arrow with noisy, dirty man-sex all over the building, she'll come to me. I have to hold to that. I may not have pushed us into this situation - with the exception of our first, perfect, mind-blowing kisses, Callie has led this dance - but I have to live with it the same way she does. And she's slowly making her way towards me. Or, at least, she was. I didn't bring us here... but I don't think I'm ready to give up now, no matter how much clinging to the hope of us is killing me.

"Huh. I didn't even realize you were being considered." A small smile crosses her lips, and even like this, even with the nervous tension thickening around us, she takes my breath away. I try to force the easy conversation that flows between us about as often as we struggle with the way we feel, but I can already see that it's probably a lost cause. When I look at her - really look at her - this time, I think I see guilt. It's not been there since the night of our first kiss, and I let myself hope, for just a second, that it's guilt over what she's doing to me. Over turning to Sloan. I offer her a slightly crooked smile.

"I wasn't going to mention it until I won." My smile is wider now, and I can see the corners of her mouth starting to turn up. She can't resist how good we are together any more than I can. "And then I was going to be all nonchalant like awards don't matter to me. Now Burke's gone and ruined my whole act." I can hear the self-mocking, confident tone that it's so easy to take with her sneaking back into my voice, and I'm relieved. I've missed it. It's one of the many things that I only let myself do with her.  "You wanna meet me at Joe's tonight? We can trash talk him."

Maybe it's pushing a little too fast, but the smile that spread across her face and the laughter in her eyes as I spoke gives me the will to try, and I know I'll hate myself if I don't. I want to spend time with her, I've pretty much resigned myself to that fact at this point. I crave her company like nothing ever before, and I'm completely crazy about her. I know I am. I'll take whatever time I can get.

"Oh, I can't. I have this other thing." She stammers through the sentence, and I know what she's telling me. I can feel the knowledge piercing my body as surely as I would feel it if she just took a scalpel and cut me open. Mark. Addison was wrong. She's choosing him. I shake my head, pushing my lip together tightly, not wanting to ask, but needing to know. I need to know if this is over, if she's calling a halt, if she's asking me to give up. Before I get the chance to figure out what to say though, the very man that I almost wish I was walks up behind her, leaning towards her, speaking to her in a low tone that I'm sure gets him pretty much everything he wants from any woman he uses it on. It sickens me.

"Hey. Can you talk to the nurses for me? What's wrong with a little harmless flirting? Tell them I'm a good guy."

"I don't think you are a good guy." I scowl at him, knowing that I shouldn't really respond, but wanting to tell him that sexual innuendo isn't really good guy behavior, and, unlike the three of us, the nurses don't know that he's married and just entertaining himself. If he was married to anyone but Callie, I'd suspect that he's not just flirting with them... but who would be crazy enough to screw around on Callie Torres? Who would feel that she's anything less than everything they need?

"Callie thinks I'm a good guy. She thinks I'm a very good guy." Mark slaps Callie on the ass, and he may as well have just struck me. It hurts the same way, maybe worse. He lets his hand rest against her, and it's torture. I can't rip my eyes away from his as he smiles, a little triumph entering into his gaze. He's so certain that he's going to win, and I want to talk; I want to tell him exactly why he shouldn't be so certain of his place. I want to tell him that Addison is sure she'll choose me, that I've driven her insane with desire on the edge of my desk, that I've explored every inch of her with my tongue, and I know I've made her feel more than she ever has before. I narrow my eyes at him, shifting my stance and biting the inside of my lip to stop the words from spilling into the spaces between us.

"Um" Callie's uncomfortable laughter lets me know that she sees exactly what she's doing to me. She doesn't shift away from Mark's touch, and she makes no attempt to actually talk to me; to tell me what she's feeling, or to make plans to do that later. Mark smirks at me over her shoulder, and I know that someone's going to get hurt here if I don't leave now.

I didn't miss this before: it just wasn't there. Since our conversation, Mark has been laying claim on Callie every chance he gets. The difference now is  - since Addison's visit - she's been letting him. I don't understand it. Addison didn't bring any new truths - to Callie anyway. All she did was see what we really are; what we truly have.

I can't watch her simper to him anymore. She doesn't love him. I heard her say it. And, if my mind isn't playing tricks on me, I heard her say that she could love me. I don't understand this at all. I wish that Callie would just talk to me, but it's probably too much to ask. With one last scathing look, I leave them both there. 

***

I loiter in my office for a long time, pretending to do paperwork once more, but in reality, I'm just staring into space and trying to figure out what's going on here. Callie was fine before Addison came, and I was just confused and hopeful. Now though, I know things that maybe I shouldn't, and Callie's running away from me like I'm the annoying boy in Kindergarten who thinks that chasing girls with spiders hides that he likes them. I thought it would be simple. It was supposed to be simple. Even after I found out she was married, it was supposed to be easier than this. It should be a case of "who do you love?" Instead, it's "who are you willing to hurt?" Because she's hurting me, and if Addison is right, making herself happy will hurt him. She's not been willing to hurt him in the past. Is it any different now? It doesn't look like it.

I thought that Addison's visit was a blessing, I thought that I'd get the answers I needed that would make this okay. I was sure that Addison would give her the push she needed to see that she has to take her own happiness into account, and she'd be happier with me than she is with him. Everything I predicted came true... but at a price that I'm not sure I'm ready to pay. I don't know if I'll ever be able to pay it.  
If Callie's going to break someone's heart, it's looking more and more likely that it's going to be mine.

I fooled myself into thinking that I was something more than just her dirty little secret, her mistress, her fun on the side. I let myself believe Addison when she told me that Callie cares more about me than she does about Mark. I let myself fall into this stupid little lie, and I forgot to protect my heart. My job is to protect and to fix hearts... and I forgot to build the walls around my own. At least, when it comes to Callie, I forgot to keep the walls up. She hammered through them like they were never there, and maybe for her they weren't. Maybe I saw her and I let myself be blinded by her beauty. I became the shallow idiot that I've scorned my entire life, the woman who lets someone walk all over her because they're just so damn beautiful she can't resist. I've never thought of myself as shallow, and I convinced myself that I was in love with someone who isn't the woman I thought she was. I'm a fool.

She's not  going to leave him. I'm certain of that. The question is, am I willing to wait for her to get over her freak-out and then be the person she turns to when Mark doesn't want her? Or when she doesn't want him? Stupidly... I don't know the answer anymore.

***

"One hundred point four." Nurse Tyler pulls the thermometer from Karev's mouth and I watch the man's face fall. He knows what's coming.

"Sorry, Karev." He's barely two degrees too warm, and because of that he can't cut. I know how much that has to suck.

"Oh come on, I'm fine."

"Immune system protocols. I am not putting Mrs. Marshall at risk. Page Yang, she's scrubbing in. You go get Mrs. Marshall's family. you're on babysitting duty the rest of the day." I do feel bad for him. He's one of the few junior residents in this hospital that I don't actively dislike, and the only one of Yang's little gang that I can stand. As far as I've seen, he's not a kiss-ass, and his private life stays mostly outside the hospital doors. Which, currently, makes him more of a professional than I am. He's done nothing wrong today, and I really think I'd prefer to have him in the OR than Yang, but I have to minimize Mrs. Marshall's risk of infection and complications. She's not in a plastic bubble because I thought it would be funny to put her there.

Once I'm done destroying Karev's hopes of a surgery , I head back to Mrs. Marshall's room, just wanting to let her know how everything is proceeding, and checking that she doesn't have any last minute questions. We've gone over all of this several times, and she's just eager to get out from behind the isolation barrier that she's been trapped behind for eight weeks. I would be too, so I shake her husband's hand, telling him that I'll send an intern to keep him updated, and tell Keira Marshall that I'll see her in the OR.

Yang is already in the loading bay when I step outside. I don't know why, but I feel compelled to talk to her. Maybe it's because I know she understands at least some of what I'm feeling today, and I need to get some of it off my chest. The professional part is the part that I can share with people, and, maybe, now that Burke has betrayed her as a surgeon, she won't feel the need to praise him at every second. I don't look at her as I speak, but the silence is deafening. The silence in which I've spent most of my day is driving me insane. I've never had a problem with keeping my own company before, but I've learned recently that life is so much easier when you have someone to share it with, and, today, I miss that. If Addison was still here, I could go to her, but she went back to LA this morning, and, though she left me her number and told me that I should call her anytime... I don't feel comfortable enough to do that.

"Donor heart's on it's way." Nothing, not even an indication that she heard me, let alone any showing of enthusiasm that she gets to scrub in on a Cardio procedure. I guess she really wasn't using him to further her career. More fool her. She should have taken Preston for all the advancement he could bring to her future as a surgeon, because Preston Burke doesn't know anything but playing people to get what he wants. He never has.

"Can't imagine how you must feel about Burke's award. You actually helped him with all that research, he didn't even mention you in the article." Still nothing. I thought that that, at least, would provoke a reaction of some sort.

"Well, I guess it's no surprise, his arrogance is legendary." I lived with it in med school, with his getting better grades than I did simply by virtue of the fact that he's male. Female surgeons have to be twice as good as their male counterparts to be thought of as anywhere near as accomplished. That's no different in Med School. I still can't let it go. I know I deserved to graduate ahead of him. I know it.

Glancing over at Yang, I realize she still hasn't even looked at me. It's admirable, in some ways, the way she won't denigrate him, but it's frustrating too. I hoped that this would give us something to solidify our working relationship upon - and that I'd get a chance to really rant. Guess not. "Thought we finally had some common ground. Good for you, refusing to trash him. Rising above. That's very impressive. I am going to follow your example, Yang." I pause for just a second, unable to believe the words I'm about to say.

"Congratulations, Preston. I wish you well."

***

I don't see Callie again for what seems like forever. She doesn't show for our regular coffee and bitch session, she's nowhere to be seen at lunch. I don't bother looking for her. This is a big hospital, and if she doesn't want to see me, there are too many places she can hide. I'm not going to chase her. It's even more clear now that this has to be her decision. Maybe she already decided.

I can't even admit to myself that the real reason I don't look for her is that I'm terrified of walking in on her with Sloan. However, no one's ever been able to call me a coward before, and I'm not going to start giving them reasons now, so when she walks into the scrub room while I'm prepping for surgery, and I turn from the sink just in time to see her attempting to leave, I stand up and face whatever the Hell is going on here.

"You can run, but you can't hide." It's a little caustic, but the way I see it, I deserve this. I deserve to lose my composure. She's continually pushed us forwards, she's encouraged my heart to become entangled with hers, and now she's trying to run away because, suddenly, it's all too real? No. No way. I'm not going to make this that easy for her. It might be a game to her, a little light entertainment in her otherwise sad life, but my heart is in this.

Damn it, my heart is in this.

"No, I, uh, wasn't... I was just..."  I watch as she shifts uncomfortably in place before turning to face me. She's trying and failing to look casual as she starts to walk back towards me, and the way that her eyes are darting around the room so that they don't settle on me... it's unbelievably painful. What the Hell is going on in her head?

Callie turns on the faucet, running her hands under the water. It's almost unbearably sexy. I can't look at her hands, because I know what they feel like on my skin, inside of me, and I can't let myself get distracted by the lust I always feel around her. I need to get this off my chest, and I can't do it while I'm looking at her. Still, I risk a slight glance to my right as I venture, "So, are we on for tonight, or what?"

I'm certain that she's going to say no, but I don't know where else to start. I've never been good at the relationship talk. I haven't had many relationships that have lasted until the point where we need to talk about who we are, where we're going, if the two of us see a long term future in this. I've never had a relationship talk where I care as much as I do with Callie... and I've certainly never had the relationship talk from this position. How do you figure out if there's a future in a relationship where one of you is married? Unhappily married, but married all the same. How do you talk about the fact that, since someone pointed out to her that she needs to decide, she's been avoiding you, and you're terrified that she's already made her choice? That it's the wrong choice, and not just for you, but for everyone. 

Her voice interrupts my thoughts, and I can't help but focus completely on her. I'm pathetic. The way I feel about her... it's pathetic. I should be ashamed. "Um, I dunno, I mean, I told you. I have this other thing."

That cuts deep. I don't know if she's saying that she's choosing him, or if there's some other code that I'm not getting, but it hurts. Even when things between us were more than uncertain, even when I didn't know how it feels to have her skin against mine, when I didn't know how the very essence of her tastes, she never ran away; she never avoided me. I don't know how to deal with this. I thought that knowing how she sounds at the height of pleasure would be worth whatever pain watching her with Mark would cause... I was wrong. I'm not big enough to face this. All my strength is worthless when it comes to this woman.

I look away from her, staring at the wall above the sinks as I try to figure out what to say. Directly addressing the situation here feels like too much; feels like it could make her run. I can try to talk around it, but I don't know how to do the coded conversations. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say in every other element of my life, but everything's different with Callie. She makes me stumble, she makes me break my own rules, she makes me someone other than who I always believed I was. If I can't talk in code, and I can't speak the truth, I don't know what my options are. Half-truths? It seems like it might be the only way.

"I don't, uh, make friends easily." That's another thing I don't do. I don't stumble over my words. I have to push forwards, though, because this avoidance hurts too much. "I'm awkward, and I'm bad at small talk, and I generally don't like people, but I made friends with you." The emphasis I place on the word friends probably isn't needed. We both know what I mean. "But, you have this other thing, and... I've never-"

"Erica-"

"I'm mad at you. I know I shouldn't be, I know he's your husband, and there are... things... that happen that I don't have to understand, that there are obligations that I don't like, but I'm mad at you. Addison came to visit, and, instead of telling me that you're freaking out because she knows about us... instead of letting us work this out together... you disappear. With your thing." Stepping away from the sink, I clench my jaw.  
I can't let her see me cry again. Callie already knows that she has too much power over me. I don't need to give her more evidence of that. I make it to the door before I finish my thought. "I don't make friends easily."

I leave her behind me in the room, and I have no idea whether she ever even looked at me properly. She was running away from me. She's been running away from me all day, and I can't stand it. Is this worth it? Technically, I should have walked into the OR instead of into the halls, and I know that I'm going to have to scrub in again now, but that's okay. Scrubbing in is easy. It's a methodical routine, and it's the literal barrier between the OR and the outside world. It washes away everything in me that's Erica, and leaves me with nothing but Dr. Hahn, and I need that now. Once Callie leaves the room, I'll go back and wash this all away, if only for a little while.

***

Maybe an hour later, it doesn't matter that I didn't walk into the OR. Keira Marshall went into respiratory distress, and it was either break the isolation barrier - or watch her die. I wasn't here, but Karev did what he knew he had to, and, by all accounts, he did it well. I didn't have praise for him when I discovered what had happened, not really, but I did offer him a slight nod to acknowledge that, despite immune system protocols, and hospital protocols that probably mean he should have waited for me to respond to the 911 page, he did the right thing. Our patient may not be getting a new heart today... but at least she's alive.

She's going to have to stay isolated until a second donor heart can be located, but she's alive.

As I break the news to her, Keira breaks down, and, if I'm honest, I want to do the same. Callie has broken me as easily as Karev broke the isolation barrier this afternoon. The difference is, no good has come of Callie breaking me, and, though Keira Marshall can't see it right now, Karev's disregard for rules and protocol saved her life. Someone needs to save me, but there's no test to prove my heart is breaking. There's no fix; easy or hard. No one can transplant a heart that doesn't love Callie into my chest. I'm dying as surely as Mrs. Marshall is. It's just that no one can save me.

***

"Okay. I've been avoiding you." Callie's voice startles me as I'm lining up my next dart. I turn to her, trying to keep my face unreadable, trying not to let the emotion overwhelm me. I don't want to get ahead of myself, but if she's willing to talk about this... maybe there's still a chance that we can make something work.

When did I become this woman? I don't think I recognize myself anymore, but if it means that I get to hold Callie, I don't think I want or need to recognize myself. I'm not going to make this any easier for her though. If she's uncomfortable now, it's just a small taste of how I've been feeling all day. Or, ever since we started this thing between us.

I raise my eyebrow, waiting for her to speak. I couldn't start this conversation even if I wanted to. I don't know what's going on in her head, although, I'll add that to the list of things that I wish were different. If I could figure her out, this would all be so much simpler. I could see if Addison is right, if she will eventually give herself to me completely; if I'm right, if Callie really does care for me more than she does Mark.

"It's just... when Addison was here... Addie, she said... she knows, Erica."

"I know." I told her this earlier. Was she listening to me at all?

"Right. Of course you do. I left you alone with her." She mutters a "stupid" under her breath, and I almost want to laugh at her. Almost is the operative word though.

"You did? I didn't notice." I watch the sarcasm in my tone register, and a faint pained look flits across her face. She's hurt? Does she not remember that I had to watch her sway out of here with him last night? Doesn't she know that I tormented myself thinking about them together? I know she doesn't know how much more knowledge I acquired last night, but she does know that I care about her much more than I should - and that watching her play dutiful wife to Sloan kills me.

I might understand more now, but it doesn't mean that I have to like it.

"Erica..." The insecurity in her voice makes me want to wrap her up in my arms until she feels strong again, and I hate how intense my feelings are for her. I hate how invested I am. "I'm sorry."

"There's a lot of that going around." Most of all, I hate that I can't stay mad at her. I was... just seconds ago, I was angry as Hell, but now... I want to kiss her. Despite the fact that the words weren't supposed to be forgiving, that's the way they come out, a soft lilt to them that suggests that I'm sorry too.

It's all okay again when she smiles at me. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

How do I reply to that? I do. If I hadn't kissed her, we probably wouldn't be here now. Things wouldn't be so complicated. If I wasn't falling in love with her, we could just be fooling around, and she wouldn't have to feel so guilty. If I hadn't pushed Addison to tell me Callie's secrets last night, I wouldn't know things that the woman in question clearly isn't ready for me to  know. She can't be the only one who's sorry. She's not the only one who should take the blame. I don't say any of that though. What I say is:

"I'm saying it's okay, Cal."

"It's not okay." There's a soft look in her eyes that I don't think I've ever seen before. Whatever it means, it's  beautiful. It makes my heart skip  a beat. I can't explain why, but I want to see that look again. "I... you didn't do anything wrong. Whatever else you could be... you're still my best friend. You deserve better."

 I don't understand what's going on here, and I need to, for my sanity. I thought that knowing why she married him would help things make sense. I thought that, if I could just understand why her smile doesn't reach her eyes in her wedding photo... I could  figure this thing out.  
It's just made everything a hundred times more complicated.

It doesn't help that Callie doesn't know that I know. And she said could. I don't know if that's good or bad.

I have no idea what to do.


	10. Chapter 10

Jason Duvall is one of the many patients that I've been treating for years. We've been waiting for a heart for a long time now, and I didn't trust my colleagues at Presbyterian to do as good a job with his complicated condition as I would when I left. I made sure that he transferred over to Seattle Grace along with a few other patients, and today, finally, we have a heart for him.

In twelve hours, he'll be whole again. I wish I could say the same for myself.

I'm slightly dazed and a little confused when I first arrive at the hospital, even though I should be pumped and focused and ready to give Jason his life back. Sipping from the coffee I stopped to get on the way in, I replay last night in my mind as I walk towards the locker rooms, just trying to make sense of it all. Callie and I were awkward last night, completely uncomfortable and unsure how to deal with each other. We never really talked about any of the things that we really need to, and I don't think that we really made any eye contact after leaving the dart board. Everything became this strange dance that I don't know any of the steps of. That is, until we left Joe's.

 I'm not sure that against my car door was the best place for us to make out, but that's what we did for at least half an hour before I managed to drag myself away.

And if I insisted on driving her to her own car and we kissed for another ten minutes, our hands all over each other, before I remembered this surgery today and forced her to go home... well, how much further into Hell can I be headed anyway?

***

"So, Doc, how's this gonna go?"

Jason Duvall flashes his cheeky grin at me, and I can't help but smile in return. I offer his wife, Catherine, and their two young children a smile too, and turn back to Jason. "Dr. Yang and Dr. Grey are going to take you down for the final pre-op tests, then, when the heart gets here; we're up."

"This is really going to happen today?" I nod slightly, not missing the slight shake in Catherine's voice.

"The heart is on it's way, so, barring any complications, this is really happening today."

I send Yang and Grey to run Jason's last tests, watching carefully as two nurses help transfer him into a wheelchair, and the five of them leave the room.

"Dr. Hahn?"

I turn back to his wife, realizing that she looks small and exhausted. I know the feeling well.

"He's going to be okay?"

I wish I could promise that, but the best I can do is offer some reassurance. "There are risks with any surgery, but he's in good hands. If his pre-op tests come back clear," I pause for a moment, choosing my words carefully, "he's strong enough to handle the recovery. Are you okay?"

"I'll be better once this is all over."

I know that feeling, too.

***

After finishing the rest of my rounds, I head back to my office to go over Jason's chart one more time before surgery. When I get there, though, someone is sitting at my desk. Or, to be completely accurate, a very tempting Latina is sitting _on _my desk.

I close the door behind me, and she meets my questioning gaze with a teasing smirk. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly feeling dry, but the seductress routine is ruined when she tries to slide gracefully to her feet, but stumbles forward when her feet hit the ground. I catch her before she falls, and she clings to me as we steady ourselves, her face nuzzling my neck.

"Hi, Cal," I murmur, affection clear in my tone. I don't like how easy I am to read when Callie's involved, but I don't think there's anything I can do about it, so I may as well embrace it. I'm half-expecting her to let go of me, but her arms tighten and her lips brush my throat.

"Hey." I feel her smile against me, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. I'm glad she can't see it, because I _know _I look like an idiot. It's amazing how right it feels to touch her; how we fit together like two pieces of a whole. If my touch makes her feel half as much as hers does me, she's pretty damn content right now.

Long fingers gently sweep my hair behind my shoulder, and a shiver runs down my spine as they brush against my skin. Soft, barely-there kisses warm my throat, and I tilt my head, sliding my hands up and down her back as I pull her almost imperceptibly closer with each touch of her mouth. So slowly that it's almost painful, she worships my neck with lips and tongue, and I shudder in her arms as she tightens our embrace. My breath is coming in deep, ragged pants when she finally takes pity on me and brings our lips together in a searing kiss. I immediately part my lips and she takes the unspoken invitation without hesitation, letting our tongues stroke as I try to pull her even closer. I think I could live inside of her, and it would still never be close enough.

My plans for the day didn't include this, but I'm not complaining. Callie breaks the kiss, gasping for air, and I open my mouth to speak, but before any sound can escape me, our lips crash back together, and her tongue strokes against mine. I can't keep my hands still; trying to map her curves with my palms, desperate to memorize the feel of her against me. Between kisses, she murmurs "Oh my God" over and over again.

I can't say I disagree.

When we eventually do mange to put some space between our heated bodies, I glance down at the watch on my wrist and I'm stunned to see that forty five minutes  have passed. I'm not sure I've spent this long just making out since high school, but it doesn't surprise me that I can do it with Callie. Callie brings back that uncontrollable rush of hormones I haven't felt since I was a teenager. With just a brush of her hand, I'm on fire. I just want to touch her all the time.

The beautiful woman whose hips my hands are still resting on is blushing slightly when our eyes meet again, and I can't help but lean forwards to let my lips play gently against hers. It's slow and tender and doesn't escalate, and I think this might even be better than the frantic passion that flows between us so easily. There's something so intimate and affirming about kissing this way.

I pull away with a slight whimper and she smiles at me, "I know, baby."

I believe her.

"I was just going to ask if you wanted to grab some coffee," she continues, a bashful look in her eyes.

"So, ask."

"Is that a yes?"

"I'd go anywhere with you, Cal." The words slip out before I really notice, and I wasn't planning to say them, but I can't regret it as she lifts one hand and cups my cheek, her thumb running across my skin reverently. We just look at each other for a long time, and I can feel the blood pumping through every inch of my body.

She's stunning.

Callie leans in, her hand tracing down my neck and arm before she laces out fingers and brings our lips together in a feather-light touch.

"Come on. You have surgery in an hour."

I don't know why, but the fact that she knows my schedule makes my heart sing.

***

We're laughing easily as we leave the cafeteria together, our steps in perfect time as Callie teases me about needing to be in control "all the damn time."

"I do not need to be in control all the time. Just... most of it."

"Whatever, Hahn. When was the last time you let someone else take control?" Until Callie, the answer is never, but if Callie thinks I'm steering us now, she's woefully mistaken. I'm barely keeping my head above water. I'm not in control at all, and if I'm supposed to be guiding us, then it's no wonder that we're careening out of control. Is that something I can tell her, or is this one of those times where embellishment would really be the better option?

I'm saved from having to come up with the answer when she takes my silence as acquiescence. She smirks at me as we reach the nurses' station, leaning in closer and whispering, "I think the take-charge attitude's all kinds of hot, Dr. Hahn." She punctuates her whisper with a quick brush of her tongue against my ear, and I smile back at her, even as I flush and try not to look around self-consciously.

I can't tear my eyes from her as she walks away, her hips swinging a little more than is necessary. My suspicion that she's trying to drive me insane is confirmed when she turns the corner, only to lean back around it and wink at me before disappearing from view completely.

Nope. Not in control at all.

***

Jason's pre-op tests were fine, perfect, even, so after a few more minutes reassuring Catherine that I will do everything in my power to bring her husband back to her whole and healthy, I corral Yang from whatever silly emotional rodeo she's helping the older Grey deal with. She looks unbelievably relieved when she sees me coming, and I don't even want to try and speculate as to what the Shepherd-Grey drama is this week.

In the brief moment that I have to wait for Yang, I glance around for Callie, hoping to see her one more time before I head into surgery. It may be the stupidest thing I've ever done. I want a rush of the same endorphins she gave me earlier... I don't get it.

What I get is the image of her leaning against the open door of an on-call room, smiling up at Mark as he leans slightly over her and tries to tempt her inside. He leans in to kiss her, and she lets him, her hands moving to rest on his waist... the exact same way mine rested on hers just an hour ago.

I feel nauseous, but I try to cover the painful tightness in my chest and the queasy feeling as I turn away. I don't need to watch her if she gives in. 

Barking "Yang," I stalk towards the OR. This surgery had better go well, because personally, my life is a nightmare.

I can fool myself as much as I want, but, between Callie and I, nothing's changed.

***

I try not to pay any attention to who is, and _isn't _watching me operate. Callie told me she'd be here, but it doesn't matter if she is or not. I don't need her eyes on me to do my job, I do my job regardless of feeling. I don't have some superstitious idea that if she's not here, my patient will die. I'm too pragmatic and have too much experience to believe that. I'd like her to be there for one reason; if she's focused on me, she didn't cave in to Mark's urgings of "alone time" in the on-call room. Scrubbing in, opening him up... I'm semi-tempted to look up, but I don't want to know it if she'_s not _ there. I've adjusted to surgery with Callie intruding on some part of my mind, but I haven't adjusted to thinking about what she could be doing when she's not actually with me. It's ridiculous, I know I have no claim on her.

I tell myself that that's the last time I'll think about Callie, and I'm successful. I lose myself in the familiar but exhilarating routines of surgery, knowing my place better in an OR than I ever have outside of it. I'm not shy or reserved, but this is a place that feels like home to me. Since the first time I walked into an operating room, I've felt like this is where I belong. This is where everything that feels foreign to me disappears.

We're over halfway through the surgery when something makes me look up into the gallery. I immediately wish I hadn't.

Callie is watching; her eyes fixed unwaveringly on me... as Sloan whispers in her ear, one arm wrapped around her as his free hand traces patterns across her thighs. She's not responding, but every time I'm reminded of the truth behind the lie that all three of us are living, it drives me crazy.

From that moment on, I'm distracted. I can't concentrate on what I'm supposed to be doing because I'm too busy glancing up to see if she's still there. I'm not sure what I actually want to see each time that I look up to the gallery, hoping with equal measure that she's still watching me like I'm the most interesting person in the world, and that she's not so that I can stop looking up and checking if she's still there. It's why my attention isn't entirely there when I press down just a little too forcefully with the scalpel - and it's only Cristina's gasp that stops me from slicing straight through the artery. As it is, I've nicked  it, and I barely even notice what Yang was gasping for until the blood starts gushing from the incision.

I stare down in shock, unable to believe that I just did something so stupid, and then I look back up to the gallery, where Callie has shaken Mark off and is on her feet, concern written clear across her face as I search my brain for the concentration to fix this. A part of my brain notes that, from the corner of my eye, I can see Yang glancing urgently between me and the patient, as though she's unsure what to do.

My brain is busy telling my hands what to do, but my body doesn't respond. I'm stunned into inaction at the sheer stupidity of what I've done. Jason is one of the few patients that I've ever let myself become attached to, and the fact that emotional involvement is never a good thing for a surgeon has been brought home to me in the cruelest possible way. My emotional involvement might be Callie Torres, but it's caused me to not only _make _the stupid error, but to freeze instead of correcting it. The OR is a flurry of action with no end product, everyone stopping short with me frozen because, here, my authority is absolute. My scalpel is poised, but I can't move.

I can't move.

Time seems to click past with alarming speed, and still I can't move.

Normally, I'd be able to deal with this. Things go wrong in surgery all the time. They may not normally be my fault, but things go wrong all the time. There's nothing I don't know how to deal with in surgery, except, apparently, my own stupidity. It feels like a long time that I stand there stricken, but maybe it's not. What I do know is that it's _Yang _who shakes me  back to reality, her terse "Scalpel" pulling me from my own thoughts.

All I can do is move my hands out of the way as Yang steps in. I watch her for a second, noting somewhere in the back of my mind that her technique and command in surgery is impressive, especially for someone who's just barely earned her resident wings. Watching her start to fix the damage that I caused focuses me, and it's not long before the momentary panic subsides and I'm back in control. Stepping forwards, I catch Yang's eye and nod slightly. She steps back, and I start to function again, remembering everything that normally comes so naturally to me, and starting to feel like I'm back in my element again.

I lock my anger down, but I know it's going to reappear the moment I make sure that my elementary mistake doesn't cost my patient his life.

***

I rip my gloves off in disgust with myself as I stalk from the OR, throwing a terse "Close him up, Yang" over my shoulder. Apparently my wannabe is more useful in surgery than I am today, so I don't see why I should stick around at the stage where there's not really anything that can go wrong. I'm livid with myself.

And with Callie.

I let her under my skin, and I really should have removed myself from temptation when she was still someone I _could _love. When there was still a chance that she wouldn't hurt me.

It's beyond ridiculous that some of our most vital conversations have taken place in the scrub room, but that's where I am when Callie barges through the door. I can't look at her. She's ripping me to pieces with every second that I'm trying to figure out how to deal with what is so clearly there between us while she stays married to the Neanderthal of a husband, with every moment that she panders to his whims, with every time that I have to try and read her mind so I can have the slightest clue as to what's happening inside her head.

"Erica, are-"

"Leave me alone." I've never meant those words more than I do now. Never.

 "I don't understand." She honestly looks confused, and that's the most galling thing about this moment. I don't know how she doesn't see what she's doing to me. She doesn't really see me. She'll never _really _see me.

"I nearly lost a patient. _I _nearly killed him."

"Erica..." She looks like she wants to touch me, her hand moves towards me, but as I meet her gaze, she lets it drop to her side. "We all make mistakes-"

I see red.

"No, Callie! This is because of you. That man nearly died because of you." I know it's irrational and that all I really want is for her to wrap me in her arms and make everything okay, but I'm slowly starting to understand that that will never happen. At least. not really.

"I was nowhere near him!" She yells back at me and I think we're having our first fight. I'm suddenly devastated that it's not as a couple. However much I try to fool myself, the simple fact is that we aren't a couple. And I don't think we ever will be.

"But you're all over me." I expected to shout it, but it comes out as a whisper. I know she heard me though because the expression on her beautiful face changes. As much as I want to hate her right now, I can't. I'm in love with her and it kills me that she doesn't feel the same. I feel myself tearing up and I fight the tears. It's the truth, she's everywhere. I can't stop thinking about her, and because of that, Yang of all people had to step in and save my patient's life because seeing Callie near Mark breaks me.

I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't know what I'll do without her, but I'm realizing more and more every second that I don't actually have her, and this is slowly destroying me. I can't do my job properly, and without my work, I don't know who I am. I love her, and I think that, if she felt the same, I'd give it all up for her in a second , but I won't give up the one thing that's always sustained me for something that won't. This...this affair won't. I need her all the way or not at all.

"Erica..." Callie reaches towards me, and, for the first time ever... I step away. I see confusion and pain in her gaze. It almost breaks me, but then I remember the sympathy in Yang's eyes after the surgery I almost fucked up completely. I remember the trusting, scared faces of Jason Duvall's wife and children. I remember watching Callie kiss Sloan.

"I can't do this."

"Erica... what?"

"This." I gesture between us. "Us. I can't... I just... I can't." I have to leave. I can't be here. I can't even find the words to tell her that we're over. I don't want us to be. I have to get out of here before I can't, because watching the truth wash over her face is killing me. This is killing me. I leave her to figure it out on her own, almost running from the room.

I don't know where I'm going, but eventually I find myself on the roof. It's becoming a pattern. I don't know how long I stand here before I feel someone standing behind me, and I'm reluctant to turn around, sure that it's Callie. I don't want to see her. I don't want to talk to her. Right now, I don't even want to know that she exists.

Eventually, though, the eyes on my back grow annoying, and I turn slowly to face her, knowing that my exhaustion and devastation is written all over my face, but not caring. I couldn't hide it, even if I wanted to, and I don't want to. I need her to see what she's doing to me. I need her to understand why I can't be her secret anymore. I can't be the mistress. If I'm with her, I need to be with her. I don't need it to be out loud, but I do need it to be exclusive. Just me and Callie. And she's never going to be willing to give me that.

The woman standing behind me isn't Callie, though.

Bailey stares at me, hands on hips. She might be an incredibly short person, but when she looks at people like this, it's intimidating enough that even _I _sometimes have the urge to run away. Whatever she wants from me now though, I can't give her. I've failed as a surgeon today, and I've been failing as a woman ever since Callie waltzed into my life. I'm not in the mood for a fight, and Bailey really doesn't like me, so I'm sure that's the only thing that's coming. Bailey keeps staring at me as I look down at the floor, showing her how defeated I am by today.

"Torres is sulking in the locker room and you're looking like you're about to jump. Someone needs to tell me what's going on."

I turn back to the railing, hoping that she'll go away. I should know better. I don't notice that she hasn't gone anywhere until she steps up beside me while I'm staring across the parking lot, not sure if I can even explain what's happening to myself.

"I like Torres, but she's nothing but a fool sometimes." Does she know? I try not to let anything show in my face, and I definitely don't turn to face her, but... does she know?

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You tell me."

"With all due respect, Bailey, I don't think this is any of your business." I'm running my fingers along cold metal as I talk, knowing full well that Miranda Bailey is not going to back down if she thinks there's something that needs to be said.

"Maybe not, but someone's gotta say something. The two of you... it's written all over you when you look at each other."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You and I both know that's a lie."

"Do we?"

"Fine. Hypothetically... you and Torres have a little something going on. I don't know what it is, heck, maybe you don't even know what it is, but it's there." I'm pretty certain that this woman knows every detail of every conversation anyone has here. She's not interested in gossip either, but she _sees _everything. And I've always known that Callie and I are doing a really bad job of hiding our _something. _Our ex-something. There's no point in lying.

"Hypothetically... I know what it is. It's over."

"You don't believe that."

"I shouldn't have made you leave the OR." Deflection is one of my core responses when something hits too close to home. I know it, and that's why I'm so good at it.

"You don't believe that either. Do you love her?" But Bailey, apparently, sees through it like I'm clear as glass. Maybe I am, all of a sudden. Maybe Callie's made it so that everything I thought about myself is untrue.

I can't not answer. "I don't want to."

"Does she know that?"

"That I don't want to?"

"That you love her. People can't read minds. Especially not yours." The way I feel about Callie is apparently written all over my face. How could she not see it? Addison did. Bailey clearly does. I'm sure Callie isn't blind, and if they can see it, so can she. She's the only one that I want to be able to see it, so if she doesn't, she's a fool.

I shut down the hope before it has a chance to take root in my chest.

"She's with Sloan." I turn away again, this time heading towards the entrance to the hospital.

"Dr. Hahn?... Before you walk away from her, you make sure that's the right thing to do." It stops me in my tracks, and I turn back to her, realizing that the general surgeon doesn't know everything. She doesn't know that, to keep my sanity, walking away is the only thing I can do. Even that might be a lost cause at this point.

"It is."

"You sure about that?"

I don't answer. I'm sure my face gives it away.

"There's not a doctor in this hospital who hasn't screwed up in surgery because of something in their personal life. Maybe that's not the way it should be, but... it's the way it is. Even you are only human. And no one died, which, for this hospital... let's just say it's a miracle." With that, Bailey walks past me and I turn on the spot to watch her stride purposely across the roof.

Something has to distract me from my thoughts.


	11. Chapter 11

I stay on the roof until the steady rain drives me into the hospital. It doesn't matter what Bailey said to me, I know it's over between Callie and I. I've let her see too much of my heart, and it's broken me. I gave her everything I am, but it isn't enough. I compromised every moral and ethical belief I've ever held for a woman who doesn't know what she wants. She's turned me into someone I don't even recognize anymore. Mixing work and life is so counter to my own rules that I think I need to rewrite the rulebook.

That's a good plan.

The first rule in Erica Hahn's New &amp; Improved Guide to Life is this. No more Callie Torres.

I make my way to the locker room as quickly and unassumingly as possible, knowing that awkward questions will be asked if anyone sees me now. I stood out in the rain so long that my scrubs are soaked through, and my hair is sticking to my head. I don't think anyone would know if I let myself cry, because the water dripping from my hair is running down my face, but I'm not going to break down. I've done far too much breaking down in this hospital in the last few weeks, and it ends here. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of who I am, but I know now. I remember.

It's not until I walk into the locker room that I also remember something else. This is where Bailey said Callie was hiding.  
Her back is facing the door when I come in, and I have a rare moment of indecision before I start to back away. I'm not quiet enough though, because she turns around, an almost hopeful look on her face.

"Erica!"

"Doctor Torres." I fumble with the door handle, somewhat afraid to turn around, though I don't know why. Before I can get it open, though, Callie crosses the small space, grabbing my wrist and holding me still.

"Please don't Doctor Torres me, Erica. What was that?" She sounds lost, and I don't know how to take that. I can't let her back in again though, even as the heat of her touch warms my frozen skin. She's hurt me too much, and I've given her too much power. I don't let that happen, so as much as it tears at me to pull away from her, that's exactly what I do.

"I told you." I don't do a good job of keeping the devastation that's flooding my body out of my voice, and I see the shock that tells me exactly how unaware of how she's been hurting me she really is. Somehow, that makes it worse. She's so unaware of my feelings that she's surprised that watching her be with someone else is killing me. It's a lack of attention that threatens to buckle my knees, and I don't know how I keep standing.

"No, you told me you can't do this. Talk to me, Erica. What's changed?"

"That's the problem! Nothing's changed. Nothing's going to change, is it? This is just... fun for you. It's just a game. But it's not a game to me Callie. I may not always show it, but I do have a heart, and you can't even see that you're breaking it." My emotions, again, are bleeding out all over me, all over both of us, and she steps back a little at the hint of venom that's definitely in my tone.

Before she can respond, I leave again, my pace taking me briskly towards the lobby, hoping against hope that she doesn't follow. That doesn't explain why the pain deepens when I don't hear her footsteps behind me, or her voice calling my name. I don't stop though, telling myself it's better this way, even as I fail to believe the sentiment.

It's the end of my shift anyway. I'll just change at home.

***

I've lost track of what glass of wine I'm on as I stare at nothing, sitting in my study because it's the only room that doesn't hold the ghosts of Callie's laughter. I tap the edge of the glass, the rhythm as unsteady as my equilibrium, easily losing myself in thought. I was sure that I would cry as soon as I got home, but I didn't. I'm not sure I can.

I don't know if that's because I know I did the right thing... or if it's because I don't believe that this is really the end of us.

When did I become this woman? When did I let myself be blinded by a pretty face? When did I decide that the sensible thing to do was to fall in love with the straight girl who, apparently, is just using me for a little fun? This isn't right. This isn't the way my life was supposed to go at all. I know better than this.

It's going to be a long night.

***

Day One Post-Callie: It's my day off, so I don't have to see her. I ignore at least ten phone calls, delete numerous text messages without reading them, and I fill my day with stupid little chores so that, if she decides to show up at my door, I won't be tempted to open it. The hours drag past interminably slowly, everything I do seeming like both the most essential and the least pressing of all the tasks that I know await me as I try to find a way not to run straight back into her arms. I find myself staring at the bottom of yet another wine bottle in the evening, even though I know I have surgery tomorrow. This isn't something I would usually entertain the thought of, but alcohol is the first place to which most people turn when they don't know what to do with themselves. And that's a category that I definitely belong in. I stop myself before I work my way to a state that would impair my work, but it takes the edge off enough that I can sleep without running every moment I've spent with Callie through my mind on an endless loop.

Day Two: The urge to call my mother has never been so strong. I stand in the parking lot, at the boundary between work and life, wondering if I'm really ready to walk in there and treat Callie like she's nothing special to me, just another colleague, another person that I have to deal with in order to do my job. I need that pep-talk that parents are supposed to be good at. Hell, I need a friend. I need anyone to tell me that I am strong, independent, accomplished and I don't need her to make me complete. I am complete all by myself, and if she can't treat me the way I deserve to be treated, that's her loss. I know that's not what my mother would say, if she'd even speak after she heard my voice, if, after all these years, she'd still recognize me.

Why have I never been good enough for anyone? Dr. Hahn is the best, and I know it, but Erica? Apparently Erica doesn't have anything to offer. I try to shake of the melancholy, forcing my emotions into the cage I've kept in my mind for just this reason. They never stay there long, but I just need to get through today. One day at a time, that's the way to do this. One day at a time? Maybe I should aim lower; an hour, a minute at a time. If I get through this one, I can get through the next. I will not let Callie destroy me. I won't let her cause me any further pain. With a deep breath and that resolution, I straighten my shoulders, hold me head up high and step forwards with a confidence I don't really feel. I am Erica Hahn. I can do this.

Every step I take feels heavy, and I'm convinced that Callie's going to be waiting just around every corner. She's not in the locker room though, and I should feel relieved, but it just makes me more apprehensive. Sometime today I am going to have to face her. Sometime today, I'm going to have to be strong enough to stand by the fact that we're over, that the game isn't worth playing anymore. I stand outside my office for what feels like forever before I can open the door, certain that she's going to be inside.

She is.

Callie looks as exhausted as I feel, her eyes red like she's been crying. She's slumped in my chair, her hair a mess, her entire demeanor that of someone completely lost. I wonder what Sloan did to bring that on. It can't have been over me. She's never treated me like I'm someone worth crying for. She stands up to meet me, and I do the only thing I can. I leave, ignoring her plaintive "Erica" as I go.  
The rest of the day, Callie always seems to be just a step behind me. Whenever I turn around, she's watching me, the look in her eyes something that I can't explain. She seems utterly despondent, and, even when I see Sloan trying to comfort her, she shrugs him off, heading towards me when she sees that I'm watching.

A week ago, that would have made my day. Now though... I disappear.

Day Three: More of the same, only now, even Sloan has noticed the way that Callie seems desperate to talk to me and I keep running away. I wonder what he's thinking; a dark part of me wishing that he's figured out our charade. I don't really know why, and neither option that my brain presents me with is something that I want to admit to having thought. I know though that he hasn't, that he probably thinks I "finally" made a move and Callie shot me down, and now I'm too ashamed to spend any time around her.

I almost wish that was the reason.

By the end of the day, I'm more tired than I've ever been before from the effort of staying away from her, Every time I see her, it reignites the battle between my mind and heart that I foolishly thought had been settled in the scrub room. My heart refuses to give in, no matter how much I tell it to. If I thought it would help, I'd give myself a bypass. Hell, I'd even let Yang do it, if it would bring some relief, some respite.

Day Four: I'm standing at the surgical board, trying to decide whether to change my schedule a little when the Chief pulls me out of my thoughts, his voice sudden and unexpected. If I hadn't been on edge for several days, overly aware of my surroundings in case Callie tries to catch me off-guard, he may have startled me. Instead, he gives me something to put a slight spring in my step. "Hahn. Walter Tapley is coming in today. Do we have anything special that he can scrub in on?"

I turn knowing that the surprise and slight joy is showing on my face. "Walter Tapley is coming here?"

O'Malley, the idiot, is standing right beside him, a pile of charts in his arms and an eager look settled on his features. He won't make a great surgeon, O'Malley; just like his friend, Stevens, he's much too invested. He doesn't know when to step away, to distance himself... and I never thought a part of my brain would be comparing me to him. Fortunately, his impulse to involve himself in a conversation involving two of his superiors brings information that might distract me for a few more minutes. And I'll more than happily take that. "The Chief was his student."

"You studied at the right hand of God? Wow." I can't help but let a smile cross my face, and I know it's clear in my voice. I'm impressed. I'm more impressed with Webber in this moment than I ever have been before. In the few short months I've been working here, I've been discovering that he's not as strong a leader as I had been led to believe in brief visits and employment negotiations. He has a staff who don't respect boundaries, or authority, and there's nowhere more dangerous for that than a hospital. It's just simple. Fear shouldn't run rife either, but here, the lack of fear is palpable. There is no leader who everyone is afraid to upset. In this moment though, I can almost forget all of that. Almost. He studied with a man I've looked up to my entire career. I don't know how to explain the awe that races through my body as I think about working with Tapley. It's a rush more powerful than almost anything I've ever felt before.

"We need something impressive."

Eyes narrowed, a reflection of how serious I am, I nod. "I will stab someone in the chest if I have to." Guess who's still at the top of that list? O'Malley laughs, but I don't think he realizes that I am deadly serious. I know that Sloan is somewhere around here, and I'd save him, especially with Tapley at my side. Though, actually Tapley might well be the only reason that I'd save him. It's so wrong that my anger is still mainly for Mark. It's her, Callie, his wife, that I'm angry at. I can't blame Mark simply for falling in love with her. After all, it's the mistake that I made. I know how easy it is to do.

"O'Malley" The Chief turns to said intern and I turn away, no longer needed here. I can't deny that the thought of meeting and working with Tapley, even if only for one day, brings a little joy into my world. I really needed this right now. Something concrete, vital and fascinating to keep my mind firmly away from Callie. Tapley may be overkill, but I'm not about to complain.

"Hahn?" I turn, a question on my face as I continue to walk "Plan to be free at ten." He doesn't need me to respond. He knows I will be.

***

At exactly ten, I stride into the conference room, completely ignoring O'Malley as he stands outside guarding Tapley from the wannabe surgical junkies that are his friends. The image I know I present is one of supreme confidence, of someone who knows her place, but I can't help that, inside, Dr. Tapley makes me a little nervous. This, for me, is like a political junkie meeting one of the Clintons, or a music fan meeting Springsteen, or Bon Jovi. I keep it locked inside though, leaning across the table to shake the hand that Tapley extends to me as Webber introduces me. "There she is. Doctor Erica Hahn, our chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery."

"It's an honor to meet you Doctor Tapley. I use your modified bypass procedure all the time." His grip on my hand is not as strong or sure as I thought it would be. He doesn't really look the way I was expecting either. On some level, it's a shock, but I know that, really, I should have been prepared for this.He's an old man now, after all, but it's strange to realize that I have put someone on a pedestal, despite my beliefs that I've never done that. I force away the insistent, nagging voice in the back of my mind that's chanting Callie's name.

"Yeah, well that was an afternoon well spent." His voice is deep, certain, resonating with an authority that I did expect, and I can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of my lips as I respond.

"You came up with that in an afternoon?" I want to believe him, even though I know, logically, that that would have been impossible. This man is a hero to me, someone who I've always seen as infallible, the perfect example of a surgeon. He eschewed family, love interests, maybe even friends to be the best he could be in the OR. It's something that I've tried - consciously or unconsciously - to emulate throughout my own career. Surgery always comes first. Surgery, I can always count on.

"It took him six years." My eyes shift to Richard as he looks to Tapley, a gentle, friendly reprimand in his tone.

"You're a killjoy, Webber." Webber laughs, shifting his hands. Immediately though, Tapley turns serious, and something in me senses that I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear, even in the split second I have to register anything before he continues, moving smoothly from the mild rebuke to a more solemn tone. "I didn't really come here for a visit." He casts his eyes down to the table, and the slight bouyancy that entered my mind this morning flees my body. He doesn't pause long though, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, like any good surgeon. " I have aortic and mitral stenosis with tricuspid regurge." My mouth falls open and my eyes shift slightly between the two men, only half-registering the shock and worry that settles on Richard's face. "I need a double valve replacement, and tricuspid repair."

For what feels like a long time, it feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath me. I was expecting to meet a legend, not have a consult on that legend.

"Are you sure?" It's Webber who breaks the shock that's overtaken all of us, and Tapley turns to his briefcase, pulling paperwork out and sliding it towards me.

"Charts. Echoes. Chest X-rays. Everything you need." Maybe it's slow of me, but it's only really in this moment that I register that he wants me to perform this surgery. I don't know what to feel. A part of me knows that this is an honor, really; that of all the surgeons in the country, even with Burke having won the Harper Avery just recently, it's me who Walter Tapley has chosen to fix his heart, but more than anything else, it's just shock that I feel. Fortunately, I don't have to find the words, Tapley's self-assurance restoring itself as he keeps talking, oblivious to the slightly horrified look that passes between Richard and I. "I may have invented the modified bypass, but I can't operate on myself... and my colleagues won't touch me because I have chronic a-fib, pulmonary hypertension, and a clot in my left atrium. They think if they operate, they'll kill me."

Just like that, every trace of the high is gone. "What makes you think we'll do it if your colleagues won't?" My voice is wry, and gives away none of the uncertainty that I'm most definitely feeling.

"I didn't start their careers. They can say no to me." He looks sideways at my Chief of Surgery, and I see the truth in his words register on Richard's face before he even says them. "Webber can't."

I can though, and I plan to.

***

"Absolutely not!" I'm standing in front of Webber's desk, having retreated to his office to discuss the bombshell that's just been dropped on my day. I shake my head, my arms crossed firmly across my chest as I look at the man seated in front of me, by tone not allowing for argument. I know Richard won't back down that easily, but if he thinks that I'll bow to the wish he hasn't yet expressed, but that I know is coming, he doesn't know me at all.

"Hold on, we haven't even dis-" He leans slightly across the table, gesturing emphatically, but it has no effect on me, and I cut him off before he gets the chance to broker any argument.

"Have you read the file? His pulmonary arterial pressure is through the roof!" My voice shows the strain I've been experiencing for the last few days. Hell, maybe for the last few months. I'm aggravated, and I have a right to be, but I wish it wasn't so clear in my voice while Webber presents a calm front. That's what I'm usually best at, but this is just too much. On top of everything, my Chief of Surgery wants me to risk my reputation - my career - on a surgery that's almost guaranteed to fail.

"He's aware of the risk." His tone suggests that he believes that's all the convincing that I'll need. He hasn't thought about this at all, I swear it, and I shake my head again, turning away, pacing across the room.

"Oh, well in that case, fine! I don't know what I was so worried about. I may go down in history as the surgeon who killed Walter Tapley, but hey, at least they're writing about me?!" My words tumble from my mouth without any real thought, a frown settling as I finish the outburst. I know this isn't all about Tapley. It's a combination of everything I haven't been able to express, all the anger and frustration that's built inside me. It's found an outlet now, and I'm working up to an explosion. I can feel it, and I try to temper it, but I don't know how successful I can possibly be. I normally have a strong grip on my emotions, but I can feel them slipping from my grasp, and I'm not entirely sure that I want to keep hold of them. It hasn't been helping so far. And there's only so much I can take before I explode. Maybe this is the opportunity I need to let go of some of that anger. As much as she deserves it, I don't think I can aim it at Callie.

"Erica, sit down." I do, but it's clear that I'm not comfortable. This is ridiculous. As if my life doesn't have enough drama lately.  
"Let me tell you a story. 38 years ago when I was-"

"I'm sorry. Is this gonna be a story about how you were a struggling black med student who wanted to be a surgeon, and no one would give you a chance and Walter Tapley gave you that chance, he mentored you, and without him you wouldn't be in this hospital today?" Does he really think that he's the only one who had to overcome people's prejudices to become a surgeon? Does he really fail to understand that I've had to work harder than everyone else to be thought of as anywhere near as good as the others simply by virtue of my gender?

"Yes." His tone is flat, and I think he knows that - for now, at least - there's no further he can get with this discussion. His trump card hasn't worked, and I don't think he can flounder for anything else to convince me in this moment.

"I'm still not gonna operate on him." We sit in silence for a moment as Webber tries to stare me down. I'm not intimidated - I just stare right back. This is my call, and this is my decision. I am not going to risk killing this man. I've worked too long and hard to get to where I am. I won't be made a joke, and if I fail - which is likely this time - that's exactly what will happen.

I wasn't going to be with Callie, but then I was, and I broke myself by the time I picked myself up and found the strength to tell her that we couldn't - I couldn't - do it anymore. I'm not letting anyone else take my decisions away from me, no matter how much my ego taunts me with the idea of being the surgeon who saved Dr. Tapley. The risks are too high. I didn't get here by making stupid decisions, and my quota for idiocy has been more than filled by Callie Torres.

***

I'm sitting alone at lunch, picking at the salad I don't really want, hoping that hiding away in the corner of the cafeteria will allow me a little peace. It doesn't. I've only been here about five minutes when Callie slides into the chair across from me. I haven't seen her since she turned away from her husband yesterday, and it's a shock to see how broken she really seems. I'm broken inside, but I think I'm holding myself together fairly well. No one seems to have noticed that I've spent a lot of my free time in the last four days fighting off the tears, and the only person who looks a little worried when they see me is Bailey. I'm not sure if that's because she can see through the calm exterior to the turmoil that's raging underneath, or if she's waiting for repercussions from our little talk on the roof.

"Go away, Callie." I look back down at my food, pushing a limp piece of lettuce across the plate with my fork.

"At least I'm Callie again." She sounds small, devastated. I can't have done this to her. It's just not possible. I would have seen something to indicate that I matter to her, beyond a silly little fling, if that was the case. Something else must have happened. If she wants to talk to me about a fight she's had with Mark, I think I might scream.

The silence eats away at me, but I know she didn't leave. I can feel her eyes burning me, her gaze almost as branding as her touch.  
"Erica. Please talk to me. I don't know how to make this right."

"You can't." At least, there's nothing she can do that she'll be willing to do. I understand why she's still by Mark's side, but she can't have both of us. And she chose Mark over herself. There's no reason she would choose me over him.

"There has to be something. I... I can't lose you."

I risk a glance up at her, hating the way my heart clenches at the tears that are welling in those eyes I've come to love. How could they have seemed so sincere when she was in my arms when this was always going to be the outcome? I don't know what to say. I know what I should say, and I know what I want to say, but those are two completely different things.

Before I can figure out whether my heart or mind wins, Webber appears. I'm absurdly grateful - until he speaks.

"I am the Chief of Surgery." This is ridiculous. I am the head of Cardiothoracics. That means that I have the last say on any surgery in my department - especially as I'm the one who has to cut him open. Webber is head of the surgical department at Seattle Grace because he's a good administrator along with being a good surgeon, but he does not know more about my specialty than I do. That's why he needs me.

"I am not killing Walter Tapley. I don't care who you are."It's simple, really. Does he think I'll back down on my principles and my career just because he says I should?

"Should I leave?" Well, maybe I'm thankful for Webber's absurdity after all.

"No." Or not. To add insult to injury, he turns back to me and continues trying to convince me that the best thing I could possibly do for my career would be to fail to heal one of the most important men in the history of surgery. I can't believe how stupid this all is. When did my life get this crazy? "He's dying anyhow. You'd rather see him die on my watch than under your knife?"

"Yes."

"I should leave." Callie starts to stand, but Webber's evil eye has her sinking back into her seat.

"I said no. Is there something going on with all the women that when I speak they simply ignore it? You don't leave. You, review the file again" He heaves a sigh as I roll my eyes. "And if either of you see my wife, you tell her the polite thing to do is to return a man's damn phone call." Callie and I look at each other as he walks away, trying to make sense of what the Hell has gotten into the Chief. If nothing else, it eased the awkwardness between us. For a few minutes at least.

Callie offers me a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I appreciate what she's trying to do, but seeing her like this... it shouldn't, but it breaks me more than I've already been broken. I stare at her for a long moment, sure that the conflict is clear in my gaze but unable to shut it down. I can be so powerless when it comes to this woman. I drop the fork to the plate and push myself up from the table. "I should go look at that file."

I don't wait around to see if she crumbles.

***

Therapy. The most terrifying word in the English language. And in a few others, I'm sure.

I've avoided it for years, but I finally accept that I need to talk to someone. I'd rather it was someone who didn't spend any time around the same people that I do, but Doctor Wyatt is highly recommended, and I really don't have the time to drive across town to see a therapist when there's one right here and available to me without even leaving the hospital. Her job is to be discreet, so my secrets should be safe with her, whatever I choose to tell her. I'm still not sure if I can share my conflict over Callie with her. I know what her advice will be, and I'm trying to follow it. The mistress never gets the happy ending, it just doesn't happen.

Luckily, today at least, I have plenty to deflect with. My frustration over Richard's refusal to listen to the myriad reasons I have for Tapley not to go under my knife has boiled over, and I honestly don't know what I'm more pissed at: that, or my inability to keep Callie out of my mind for more than five minutes at a time. Even if I wanted to, or knew where to start, I don't think I could talk about her. I'm in my workplace, dressed in scrubs, and just being with Callie - having been with Callie here is bad enough.

Dr. Wyatt sits quietly across from me, clearly thinking through what I've told her about my clash with the Chief, the look on her face telling that she knows I'm still holding something back. Today though is not the day that I'm ready to go into that. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, my head is still at war with my heart, my emotions much too close to the surface for comfort. I can't discuss them with any degree of clarity. She may be a therapist, but Wyatt is still a colleague, and I can't break down in front of her. I won't let that happen. I think she's waiting for me to break the silence, to tell her what I'm really feeling, but I'm more than content to wait her out.

"What exactly is it that you're afraid of?" It's a calm question, and I'm sure it wasn't meant to incense me, but it's exactly what it does, proof of the struggle I'm having to keep hold of my feelings, sparking the anger that underlies every other emotion. Anger at Callie, anger at Mark, at Richard... at myself. More than anything else, at myself. I try not to let it show, but it's there in my voice. "I'm not scared."

"Tell me then, Erica. What's the worst that can happen if you do the surgery?"

"What do you mean, 'what's the wor-' I could kill him!"

"Isn't he dying anyway?"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is?"

I'm lashing out in directions that don't make any sense, but I can't control myself. That's almost more disconcerting than anything else. The words bubble to the surface, tumbling across each other in their urgency to be heard, to relieve some of the tension that's gathered across my shoulders since I started working here. "You're not a real doctor, so maybe you didn't take it, but everyone knows the Hippocratic oath 'first do no harm.' Does it sound familiar?"

I'm looking for a fight, but, to her credit, Wyatt doesn't rise to take the bait. "Will doing nothing help him?"

It stops me in my tracks, the realization washing across me that she's right. I don't have to like it, but doing nothing condemns him to death. It's really my reputation that I'm worried about, but would not doing this operation be helpful in any way? I have to admit that it won't be. Can I, in good conscience, allow him to die because people might take pleasure in my downfall if I fail to save him? I have confidence in my ability. I know I'm good. Hell, I know I'm great, and whatever happens, I can fight my way back to the top again. Can I let Walter Tapley die because I don't want to have to face that?

Before I can find any words to respond, there's a frantic knock on the door. For a moment, it seems as though Wyatt is going to ignore it, but, as the knocking continues, she sighs heavily, and we share a resigned look as she stands. I can't hear what's being said, as she stands in the doorway talking quietly with whoever is on the other side, and I don't really care. I'm fighting with myself again, one half of my brain still reluctant to operate, the other raring to go. I'm pushing aside the reluctance as well as I can when Wyatt closes the door, moving back to her chair. Before she can even sit though, the door bursts open and, unsurprisingly, really - she's at the center of the majority of the considerable amounts of commotion that happens in this hospital - Meredith Grey stumbles in, her mouth open and prepared to speak. I'm not really paying enough attention to know if she speaks or not, but I fix a deadly glare on her, allowing my frustration to enter my voice.

"Make an appointment, Grey. It's what we do." Just seconds after the door closes behind her, my pager goes off, cutting this session short. I reassure Dr. Wyatt that she'll see me next week as I leave. Truthfully, if I fail today, she'll probably be seeing me sooner. I'm chagrined to realize that it won't be about having killed Tapley. It will be because my failure is more likely than anything else to make it almost impossible to stay away from Callie. As much as it hurts me that she's not mine, when she's in my arms, the rest of the world falls away.

If I can't do this, I don't know if I'll be strong enough to stay away.

***

For the first time since I became an attending, I'm standing in an OR and I'm nervous. This has always been the place I can rely on, it's always been the one thing that never lets me down. Until Callie walked into my life, I'd never faltered. That changed a few days ago, but I've never felt anything less than certain when I'm standing here. This insecurity is new, and I need to shake it.

"Is everything alright?" Richard's eyes find mine across the table, a hint of impatience in his tone.

I try not to snap, knowing that I need to stay calm. "One of the founding fathers of Cardiothoracic surgery is on the table and I'm about to slice open his chest." I know my voice is shaking a little, and I curse it, but I can't stop it. This is reckless and stupid and I may be about to throw everything I've worked my whole life to achieve away. "Give me a minute."

In those few moments, I run through everything I've ever learned about this surgery, every step, every possible mistake I could make - or anyone else could make - that I need to anticipate. I run through every way this could go wrong, and reassure myself that I know how to recover if it does.

"Okay. Scalpel." My hands are steady, and I silently thank God that I at least have that as I take the scalpel from the scrub nurse, immediately moving to make the cut.

"Don't screw it up." How the fuck is that supposed to be helpful? I freeze for a moment, looking back up from where I'm poised to make the first cut.

"I am gonna kill you." Right now, I mean it with every fiber of my being. I'm not sure that I've ever meant anything more than the sudden impulse to kill my Chief of Surgery. But, before that can happen, I need to make sure that I don't kill a man that I've looked up to like a God for my entire surgical career. And that is easier said than done.

Nearly three hours later, we're nearing the end of the surgery. It's taken me a little longer than a normal valve replacement, but this is hardly an ordinary day for me. I'd rather be on my feet longer than I need to be than make a mess of it. So far, I've kept all possible distractions from my mind, and it's going well. As soon as that thought enters my brain, I try to banish it, but once it's there, there's not much I can do. And, like always recently, just when I think things might be okay, fate intervenes. I'm starting to think that I'm going to get us all through this, but when we take him off bypass, things go horribly, horribly wrong. "What the Hell is... there's a leak, go back on bypass. Now." I'm trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but I'm not sure I manage it. I have to trust myself though. This is high risk, but I've done the procedure a thousand times. I let my hands work, the actions a muscle memory as I think ahead, calculating every move, every option before I actually need to make it.

"Bailey, take the clamp off the aortic and venous lines." I know I can't do this alone, and that he's doing what needs to be done while I should be - and am - focused on repairing the tear, but just having Richard in the room with me right now makes the anger surface again. I lock it down, forcing my brain to stay where it needs to, even as it tries to drift off to ways that Webber will pay for his pressuring me into something that I knew should never have been done.

"The whole left atrium is torn where that clot was adhered." I call for the scissors. "This was a mistake." I lift my eyes briefly, making sure that he knows that my irritation is entirely for him. "Irresponsible and stupid and I cannot believe that I let you talk me into it." My voice is rising, my temper close to taking over, but my hands know what they're doing. I know what I'm doing. "My reputation's gonna be in the toilet at the end of this day. Dan Slocombe at Mercy's going to have a field day with this. Condescending tool that he is."

"Erica." Richard's voice is placating, but I'm in no mood to listen to him right now.

"Don't Erica me, Richard. It's not your good name we're going to destroy here today, much as I wish that it was."

"Doctor Hahn?" I don't know exactly what it is, but something captures my attention, and I look up at him, knowing that my eyes are widened with the flurry of emotions that are passing through me. "It's done."

I drop my gaze so rapidly that I feel a little faint, but what I see is almost flawless, no tear, no leak, nothing but a heart beating the way it should. Relief floods through my veins, the release of the day's negative tension too much to really articulate, even in my own mind. I move my hands away completely, and Bailey voices what we can all see.

"No leak. The repair's holding." Something about it being aloud makes it real. We didn't just get through this. We did what should have been impossible. I run my eyes across my work, noting every detail, checking carefully for imperfections, nodding almost absentmindedly as I realize that there aren't any. I don't know how, but we repaired Tapley's heart. I don't think there's any way to describe the rush of endorphins that flow through me. Or the hope that this gives me that it really shouldn't.

"You were saying?" Richard's voice draws my attention once more, and the irritation almost flashes again until I remember what we've just done, and a relieved laugh almost escapes me.

We got through this. I am a rock star. It's the first time in a long time that I really feel like I could take on the world and win. I still kind of want to kick Webber's ass though.

***

I didn't see this coming. I knew I wouldn't be able to resist the allure of turning to Callie for whatever false comfort she could offer if I failed, but I never foresaw that she'd also be the one person I'd want to turn to in my success. The elation I feel makes me want to kiss her hard, to let her know that, no matter what, I will be victorious in the battle for her heart, the same way I was victorious in the OR. I'm resisting the urge to hunt her down for one reason only - I haven't forgotten the pain of the last few days, and I'm a lot of things, not all of them positive, but a masochist isn't one of them. I don't want to share every bright moment with her. It hurts so much more when I come back to earth. After Richard's congratulations, I retreat to my office, the smile on my face unable to be tempered, until I realize that I don't really have anyone to share this with. Before I can really descend from the cloud I've been perched on since Tapley's heart beat in perfect rhythm once again, there's a knock on the door to my office. I look up to find O'Malley standing in the doorway, that deer in the headlights look of his firm upon his features.

"What?"

"Dr Hahn, Dr. Tapley is awake and asking for you." I didn't realize that I'd been sitting here retracing my success for long enough for Tapley to wake up, but I nod, dismissing O'Malley without a thought. Glancing towards the clock on my computer screen, it startles me to see how late it has gotten. I don't need to make a decision tonight, and Callie has probably gone home already anyway. Before I can dwell too much on what that means, I stand, gathering my jacket and purse, deciding that stopping in to see Tapley will be the last thing I do before I go home for the day.

I stand just outside the door to the private room, uncharacteristically indecisive. Before I can fully gather the Dr. Hahn mask that's been slipping all day, I hear Tapley's voice, not reverberating and echoing with authority like it was this morning, but just a man who's only recently come out of anesthesia. I can do this. It's not a problem. I don't know why I even managed to convince myself that he's someone I should worry about. I saved his life today, against my better judgment. How can he possibly be anything but grateful? One last deep breath, and I stride into the hospital room, my facade sure, certain, even as my mind isn't even on this moment. Callie shouldn't be anywhere near my mind right now. A month ago, I'd have been hanging from this man's every word. Now, I'm distracted, impatient. I try not to let it show, and I think it works. "Dr. Tapley, how are you feeling?"

"Like a man who just had heart surgery." It could be a reprimand, but the tone of his voice is teasing, friendly, so I meet his smile with one of my own, hoping desperately that it doesn't seem forced. Before I can speak again, he continues, his eyes fixed on my face. I wish he'd look away so I could, but he seems to want to communicate the depths of his sincerity, so I look back at him, forcing myself not to fidget, or shift my stance too much. Even in a hospital bed, Tapley has a presence and an authority that it's hard to deny. "I wanted to thank you for what you did today. It was against your better judgment, I know. If there's anything I can do to repay you, don't hesitate to let me know."

"I'm just glad we got you through it." Glad is an understatement. I don't know how to respond to the rest of his words. I don't think there's anything he can do for me right now, but, Seattle Grace could easily become nothing short of a nightmare for me, and it might be useful to have a man as powerful as Tapley feel like he owes me something. Really, all I did was my job, but I think he knows, if not for his influence on the Chief, I would have listened to my instincts and never done the surgery in the first place.

"Well, I can hardly argue with that." He chuckles slightly, and I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips. Some day, probably in the not-too-distant future, I'll likely be thankful that they pushed me. Even Burke can't take this victory from me. This time, I took the long shot, faced something that seemed impossible... and it paid off.

Swallowing hard, trying to cover the complexity of emotion that's welling up, I murmur, "I trust you'll behave tonight."

"Of course." There's a twinkle in his eyes that says the nurses might report differently tomorrow morning, but I know whatever paces he decides to put them through, he's not about to do anything to endanger his recovery. "Is there anything I should be worried about?"

"The surgery went very well. I don't expect any complications, but-"

"That doesn't mean I should take any chances."

"Exactly."

"I hear you did very good work today. You should be proud of yourself." He offers another smile, and I don't think I can hide how much his praise means to me. "Go home, Dr. Hahn. Get some rest."

"You too, Dr. Tapley." Smiling properly now, I start to leave the room.

"Dr. Hahn?" I turn back to Tapley, still looking small and weak, and nothing like the hero I've always believed him to be. His voice is still sure though. "A little... collegial advice?" I nod. "Don't make the same mistakes I have." I feel the frown settling on my features, and my mind immediately moves straight to Callie. "Don't forget to do what's best for you, not just for others."

I don't know that it's best, but I do know what I want. I wonder how that changes things. I don't ask though, choosing to offer him a small smile before I leave the room. Am I really going to give up this easily? Things got tough today, really tough, but I still pushed through. I wonder where else that might work. Is it worth the chance?

Is it worth trusting her enough to find out? I guess, the question I'm really trying to find an answer to right now is... is it worth the risk? I'm fighting a losing battle, I think. The longer I spend running away from her, the more compelled I am to see her. She draws me to her like a moth to a flame, and no matter how much I try to resist, I can't help burning myself every single time. I need her to know what she does to me, that I think I'm in love with her. I don't know what, if anything, that will change, but I'm certain that Mark doesn't let her forget that he loves her. That's a disadvantage I don't have to let myself have, and admitting to it will change nothing about the way I feel. But it might change everything for Callie. I have to hope that it will.

***

I'm not prepared for the sight that greets me as I step into the hallway outside my apartment. Callie's leaning against my door, looking small and broken. I hate that it hurts so much to see her this way. She affects me too much. I've never been this invested in another person before, and it feels like it might kill me every time I realize that I might be chasing an impossible dream. My head is torn between rushing to her, gathering her in my arms, whispering words of love and devotion against her neck as I breathe her in, or darting back into the elevator before she can see me. I stand frozen as my body tries to decide in which direction it needs to run, and it's only a brief moment before she looks up to meet my gaze. I know I decided I needed to tell her exactly what she makes me feel, but this is too soon. I thought I'd have time to figure out exactly what I need to say.

"It's not a game." Her cheeks are tearstained and it almost hurts to look at her. I don't know how long she's been sitting in the hall like this, waiting for me to get home, and as much as my head tells me to walk away, to leave, to go anywhere but here before she drags me back in, it tugs at my heart to see her this way. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, her lip trembling a little, tears on the verge of falling down her face once more. How can I have done this? It makes no sense.

"I love you so much it hurts." My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure we can both hear it. I feel like I'm frozen, sure that I'm imagining it. She's not been behaving that way, and I've wanted this so badly that it's entirely possible I'm going insane. "Erica, please say something." She's begging me now, the pleading look on her face hopelessly endearing. This is stupid and wonderful and terrible and everything I want.  
As much as she hurts me, she stuns me with everything about her that makes her Callie. She's Callie. She's a better person than I even imagined, and I don't think I can criticize her for what she's doing. I wish I could... but I think she's trying to make us all happy in the long run. It's doomed to fail... but it's noble. I can't have her halfway, and I don't think Mark can either. I can wait for her to make a decision, and I'm not going to lay down and let her forget that I need her the same way he does. I've been struggling with this all day... but I think I've made a decision. I think I know that I'm in this all the way, wherever Callie wants to lead me. It's pathetic that I'll follow her even as she beats my heart into the ground... but I can't help it. I can't fight it, so I don't think it's worth it to even try.

There are still too many questions, so much we have to talk about, but I can't stop myself from going to her. It's like someone flicked a switch and reoriented my poles so that, suddenly, we're not both facing south anymore. She steps forwards to meet me and this... this is like coming home.

Her arms wrap around me, pulling me as close as she possibly can and I breathe her in, my face in her hair, her fruity. almost too sweet perfume like a salve to my heart. "God, I've missed you." She buries her face in my neck as she says it. so the words come out muffled - but she definitely says it.

I know better than to get carried away, but I feel almost dizzy with the relief of having her back in my arms. There's no way that we could ever fit together this well if we weren't supposed to be. I'm stupidly attached, especially given that nothing has really changed. Except that she loves me.

Callie Torres loves me. I have to swallow the hysterical giggle that bubbles up in my chest, a smile spreading across my face as she continues to cling to me, like she's been alone in the desert and I'm her oasis. On the heels of that thought comes Reality. Maybe this is as fleeting as the illusion of water in the stories. Maybe she's my oasis, and I'll dive in head first only to end up crumpled on the ground and covered in dust. I try to disentangle myself from her embrace, trying to prepare for the conversation I know we need to have, but Callie holds tight, a sob in her voice as she whispers, "Don't."

"Callie-"

"Please baby, I need to feel you. I need to know that you're really here, that I'm not dreaming."

Trying to pull back enough to at least see her face, I cup her chin with my right hand and tilt her head. When her eyes meet mine and I see the sincerity in them, I have to force myself not to pin her against the wall and kiss her until neither of us can breathe, Swallowing hard at the image, I remind myself that believing in her feelings for me is what got us into this mess. I've never doubted that she loves me - or, at least, that she could - I've doubted her ability to put me, Hell, to put herself above Mark. There's still nothing here that's really changed.

Even as my brain tells me that, my heart is pounding a staccato beat, the rhythm sending her declaration of love racing through every part of my body. It's like a weight has been lifted.

Callie's soft voice breaks through the fog of my thoughts, "What?"

"I'm really here. You're not dreaming. But, we're in the hall, and I don't want my neighbors to hear us talk."

"Oh." There's a look of disappointment that flashes across her face that doesn't bode well. But, if she was hoping that we would fall back into the same pattern because of some pretty words, she's wrong. I've lost my head over her, and I know it, but I'm not that stupid. I'll never be that stupid.

I guess it's time to find out what Callie's willing to do to get what she claims she wants.


	12. Chapter 12

I leave Callie sitting on the couch while I bring two bottles of water from the kitchen. She looks up at me hopefully as I re-enter, her fingers barely brushing against mine as I hand her one of the bottles. A split-second decision has me taking the armchair to her right rather than joining her on the couch, and I watch as she tries not to show how much that decision hurts her. A small part of me feels victorious, like her pain validates my own these last few days - or weeks - but the bigger part feels ashamed that I can even think that. But, I remember what happened the last time we sat on my couch together, and my mind wins out, even as my body calls for Callie's touch.

Callie studies her hands like they're the most interesting things in the world, the thanks so muted that it barely exists. I nod in acknowledgement, no words coming to mind that do justice to how truly fucked up this all is. We sit in silence for a long time, both lost in thought. I wonder if we're thinking even close to the same thing. I desperately want to know what's running through her mind; how much her admission of love changes things between us from her perspective, but I'm not going to be the one who breaks the awkward silence. Honestly, I don't even know what to say. I don't know if there's anything I can say, or if there's any way back for us. Until I know what she wants from me - what she really wants - I can't make that decision. And the realization that she might just want more of the same is like swallowing razor blades; it rips me apart that badly.

I’m determined not to be the one to speak first, but, as the minutes drag on and the presence of Callie in my home when I’m not sure I want her to be here becomes unbearable, I realize that I’m going to have to. If only so this day can end. I think Callie’s going to regret not speaking though. I don’t have the inclination to make this easier on her, no matter how good it felt to have her back in my arms. Why should I be careful with her when my feelings have never seemed to be one of her considerations?

“What do you want?” All the pent up emotions that I’ve been hiding seep through the words and Callie’s head snaps up from her intense study of the label on the water bottle.

“To talk to you.”

A bitter laugh escapes me, and a part of me hates the look of hurt in her eyes. The bigger part is angry. At her, but, most of all, at myself. I still can’t believe that I’ve let this become my life. “So talk.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then leave.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She pauses, struggling for words, and I try to calm down, even as I brace myself for the woman I love to say the wrong thing again. I refuse to let myself hope that she’s willing to lay herself on the line. She may have told me that she loves me, and I needed to hear it to remind me that I’ve not gone totally insane, but it’s not the only thing I need to hear. Callie’s voice shakes as she continues. “I don’t think I’m going to get another chance, and… I need to say the right thing. I need you to understand.”

“Well I don’t.”

“I know that. And I don’t know what to say to make you.”

“Why don’t you start with what you want?”

“You.” The single word sets my heart beating faster, despite my intentions of not letting her get to me. Her tear-dampened eyes lock on mine, and I can’t look away, the sincerity and desperation locking me in place. My brain doesn’t stop racing, warring frantically with my heart. Nothing’s changed, runs through my mind, a constant mantra reminding me that this, I’ve known for a long time. It’s all the things I don’t know that need answers.

I force my mouth to work, words seeping around the lump that’s taken residence there. “More than Mark?”

I’m aiming for facetious, but it comes off bitter, and I silently curse my inability to control my emotions where this woman is concerned. I don’t know how she gets to me so goddamn easily. I don’t know why it has to be her who I feel this inexplicable connection to. All the women in this world who know what they want and are free to chase it, and Callie Torres, or Sloan, or whatever it is she thinks of herself as it the one my heart bleeds for.

“Mark… it’s complicated, Erica.”

“So you’ve told me.” She’s repeating every placating comment she’s ever made, and I hate myself for the brief moment in the hall that I allowed myself to hope that things are different now; that’s she’s had the wake-up call she really needed to make a decision once and for all. But everything she’s saying now is to maintain the status quo, to keep me quiet while she plays the same come closer – go away games she always has. I think maybe I’m starting to see who Callie is, a devil in an angel’s body, and I don’t think I like her.

But I still love her more than words can say. I can’t reconcile my mind with my heart, and it’s destroying me.

“I don’t know how to explain it. Erica, baby, I want to be with you, but… I can’t… this would destroy him.”

My heart sinks like a stone. As much as I know I can’t be with her if she’s with him, it kills me to hear her say that she can’t be with me. “Here’s the thing, Callie. When is Mark, the man you ‘don’t love’ going to stop being more important than the woman you claim you love ‘so much it hurts’?” The last four words are almost mocking, full of a callousness I don’t really feel. I wish I could feel it. Bringing us to the end that’s inevitably coming if Callie can’t make her own choice would hurt so much less if my heart wasn’t cracking open inside of me.

“I lost his baby, Erica! I don’t know how to tell him he’s losing me too!” Her words drip with anguish, a whisper so loud that it feels like a scream. I knew this too, Addison gave me that much, but from Callie herself… her pain is so deep it echoes around me, an unrelenting reverb as tears start falling from the eyes that have failed to deliver on every promise Callie ever made. Despite my resolve, I can’t not go to her. I break like the clouds that hover over Seattle, tears burning my cheeks as I move beside her, pulling her into my arms. I’m making excuses for myself even as I do it: I can’t watch anyone shatter this way and not try to comfort them; I can’t keep my distance while faced with a pain this loud, but I know, deep down, that it’s just Callie, it’s just… as much as she doesn’t seem to feel the same, I can’t watch the woman I love suffer. As much as I wish I was immune to her tears, I’m not. I don’t know that I ever will be.

I can taste the salt on my lips as I continue to cry, Callie’s tears soaking through the thin cotton of my shirt, the coolness burning my skin. I hate that, even now, I want to make everything okay for her, whatever the cost to myself. If I thought I could without making Callie miserable too in the end, I think I would. As much as I’ve spent the last few days convincing myself that I don’t need her, that I can be okay with the end of us, I still hold onto the hope that she’ll realize that she has to make herself happy – and that if she loves me, she’ll start thinking about what our relationship is doing to me. I know that Mark has been a consideration for her longer than I have been, that she’s made commitments that she should never have made, and that she’s in a difficult situation, but will she ever really look at me and know that this is just as hard for me? I want to say that I know she will… but I know that I can’t. I can give her time, even though I’ve already given her too much, but I can’t be with her while she takes it. I can’t get any further into this than I already am. If my heart is breaking now, what will another week, another month, or another year do to my heart when she decides that she’d rather take the safer road of being with him? I can’t let that happen. As much as I know I’ll wait for her… I have to give myself a chance to survive if the moment that she’s truly mine never comes.

Stroking silky hair, sliding my hand soothingly across the smooth contours of muscle and bone of Callie’s shoulders, I can imagine her here in my arms every time she cries; I can see me kissing away her tears and promising that I’ll always be there, swearing to make everything better for her, but the truth is, it’s not my place. However much I’d give for it to be where she belongs when the world collapses around her, as much as I want to promise her that I love her and we can make this okay, I know I can’t. She’s the only one who can fix this. All I can do is promise to pick up the pieces if she chooses what’s right for the two of us, instead of what’s right for a man she thinks she owes something to. And maybe she does owe him something, but not this; not being the sacrificial lamb so that he can strive for an ultimately unfulfilling happy ending that will never come. Because if he loves her, truly loves her the way that I know I do, he can’t be happy unless she is, and she swears that what makes her happy is me. If I could believe that she’d be happier with him than with me, I could step aside; I could break my own heart to see her smile. It would kill me, but it wouldn’t matter. I’d walk away if her life would be better without offering her my love. But I know – I’ve always known – that’s not the truth.

I still can’t live in limbo. I won’t let her destroy me as a result of her own self-destruction. I’m not going to tell her what she should choose, however much I want to yell at her that I’m the one she needs to be with… but I can tell her that she has to choose. And no matter how she feels in my arms, no matter that even with her sobs wracking her body painfully against mine, and the way my heart aches more for her pain than it ever has for my own, the simple fact that a choice must be made hasn’t changed.

When her tears stop flowing and she’s clinging to me for more than comfort, I don’t want to let her go. I take a moment to breathe her in, the sweet floral scent of her perfume and indefinable undertone of something that’s all Callie, branding her on my lungs, memorizing the feel of her in case this becomes the last time we can be this close. She nuzzles closer against me, heat searing through my veins as her lips brush softly across the hollow of my throat and I pull away, still reluctant to let go of her, but determined not to lose my senses in her like so many times before.

Callie. I raise a hand to stop her leaning closer, elongating her name until it's a warning I don't want to have to issue. My fingers are splayed on her chest, keeping the distance between us enough that I can still think. I can feel the heavy pounding of her heart, and I swallow hard, fighting to keep the thoughts of her full lips on mine away from my mind. I can't, we can't keep doing this. The crestfallen look that settles on her features is almost too much, but I haven't forgotten how intensely it hurts to love her and know that someone else is loving her too; someone who, no matter what she says, has a far greater claim on her than I have. Even though I know now that she loves me, that she doesn't love him, I'm still feeling it. It permeates every atom of my body, and I can't be with her with that simple, unbelievably complicated, fact underlying every word, every touch, every kiss.

I love you. My heart soars at those words, and crashes in a ball of flames at the ones that follow, feeding the anger that's beginning to build again. I don't love him. Isn't that enough?

Not this time. I wish it was, Cal, but I can't share you. I just... can't.

I don't want to hurt him.

You're killing all of us. You're... he's hurting. I promise you he's already hurting, and I'm... I don't know what to say. I don't know if I can tell her how much it destroys me to only have a part of her, no matter how big a part of her she claims that is. I'm... I can only be your friend if you're with him.

I need time, Erica.

Six months ago, that's what I thought. I thought you'd see that... I thought you see that you don't want him as much as you want me, but I'm not sure anymore.

It's true. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you. I just... I need to figure out how to tell him. Erica... he loves me.

I love you. I love you. And you say you love me, but you won't let us have the chance to see if we can be together. I'm not asking you to commit to me, Callie. I'm asking you to let us see. If you don't love him-

I don't. Not like I love you. Her eyes are welling, and I can feel her sincerity, but I can't let it wear me down. She needs to know what the rules are, where the line is. She needs to see that I can't be her dirty little secret anymore.

If you don't love him... why are you still with him? I know it’s hard to break someone Callie and with your history…” I pause, searching for words, hoping that something I say will make her understand that this is something that has to be done if she wants us to be together,” but on some level, he knows that what you have isn't what it should be... and I can't watch you leave me to go back to him again. It breaks me every time.

“It’s him or you, is that what you’re saying?” Her voice is small, but I know that I’m doing the right thing. It may not feel like the right thing to push her away when all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and never let her go, but I know that it is. If she won’t be with me, then I have to give myself a chance to heal. I have to give myself my life back.

“I can be your friend, Callie, but I can’t do this dance anymore.” I don’t know what torture even that closeness might become, but I’ve found it as difficult to be away from her in the days since I told her that I couldn’t keep on the way we have been as she seems to, and I’m not sure how much longer I can force myself to outwardly pretend that she means nothing to me. “I want more than just a game. I want to be with you, really be with you… can you honestly say that this is enough for you?”

She stares down at the floor again before pushing herself up from the couch, moving away from me. I don’t know why, but it gives me the time and space I need for clarity of thought, and I’m thankful for it. She watches me silently before whispering “I can’t.”

I’m not sure what she means. I hope she means that she can’t tell me that this life in the shadows, secret love act is enough for her, but she could still be talking about telling Mark. I search out her eyes, noticing the shadows that swim within them, the clouds that obscure her thoughts from my gaze with images of an abiding sorrow. I don’t even know that I’m holding my breath until her next words expel it from my lungs in a relieved sigh that’s almost a laugh. “I wish I didn’t have to hurt him.”

“I know.” I wish it was possible to make that happen for her, but at least we’re moving forwards… maybe. I won’t be able to breathe easily until I wrap her in her arms and breathe in the freedom to love her… until I can feel her love without the shackles that bind her to someone else tingeing us with melancholy. The regrets that haunt me won’t disappear until I can kiss her without the knowledge that we can’t belong to each other looming behind every caress.

“How much time do I have?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a lie, but I know I can’t tell her that I’m willing to wait forever with the promise that she’ll eventually be mine to cling to. Even though I hate the way we’re both behaving, how indecisive she is, how weak I am, I feel like she’s the other half of me, the part that I’ve always felt is missing.

Picking up her purse, Callie’s head is bowed; her shoulders slumped like the weight of the world rests on them.

“Callie.” I stand as she turns back to me, her eyes misted and shrouded with emotions I can’t name. Hope shines through beneath them, and I don’t know if that’s something to hold on to, or if it means that she’s still praying that I’ll change my mine and decide that this half-life is enough for now. I can’t deny that my heart is tempted, but my head knows that, if I back down now, I’ll always be backing down. Unless I give her a reason to choose, I don’t think she ever really will. For some reason, she seems to think that lies and deception form the easier path.

I know as well as anyone that the easier path isn’t always better.

“Yes?” She sounds so small, and I want to sweep her up in my arms and tell her it will all work out, but I know I can’t promise that. And that allowing myself that close will just make things harder for both of us.

“What does your heart tell you?”

Her eyes find mine, and I believe every word she says; I feel it, all the way to my core “That I love you.”

***

I know I should just let her go, but I walk her to the elevators, reluctant to leave her presence. It brings me as much comfort as it does pain, and I’m not ready for the hurt to hit me again. Somehow, even this lack of resolution has brought me a little clarity, and I’m keen to hold on to it. I think it might only stay while she’s close enough to touch if I want to, while it’s my own choice that I’m not holding her.

We stare at each other for a long time before I whisper “I’ll see you at work?” Callie nods, and her eyes burn through me as I try to decide whether or not to hug her.

It's a moment's hesitation, but Callie sees it - and uses it - for what it is; an opportunity, a weakness that I fear will always be there when it comes to her. Her lips are on mine before I have time to realize she's even leaning in to kiss me. I wish I could claim some resistance, but I can't. I think I've used up all my willpower on insisting that, until she leaves Mark, friends is all we can be. I'll take this kiss, this intense, powerful, hungry need for her and use it to sustain me until she's really mine.

I know I'm shaking as I wrap my arms around her, tasting my sorrow on her tongue as it dances against my own. A need for oxygen overrides the desperation to feel her against me, and I reluctantly pull away, unsure when, if ever, we'll really be free to pursue the love that flows between us so poignantly. Our foreheads rest together, and I open my eyes to see the sorrow I feel reflected in velvet shades of brown. My cheeks feel wet, and I know I'm crying for everything we could be if life wasn't standing in our way.

If Callie wasn't standing in our way.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, shuddering breath and step backwards. It feels so wrong to move away from her, but stepping back is exactly what we're doing, into a past that I'm not sure ever existed. I don't know how to just be friends with the beautiful woman in front of me, but, for now at least, I know I have to learn. It's a harder lesson than anything that's come before, a class I'm not sure I can ace, a challenge I don't know how to overcome.

Once I feel the distance is enough to stop me racing back into her arms, I let myself look at her. Callie's face is as despairing as I feel, and I clench my hands so hard it hurts, tensing my body against the urge to soothe her, to promise her that things will be okay, that we can endure this parting and become stronger. The words would be empty though. I don't know that they're true. While Mark is still in her life like he is now, I can't give in. I've compromised so much for Callie, but I can't back down on this. I can't fall back into the way things have been. I won't suffer that way.

Friends. It's not a question, but it almost sounds that way as I force the words around the harsh lump that's settled in my throat.

Friends don't kiss like that. Her words are soft, laced with emotions I can't describe.

And we're not going to. Firming my jaw, I blink rapidly against the fresh onslaught of tears. She takes a small step forwards, and I reach towards the door, longing to lock myself behind it, clutch a bottle of wine, and lose myself in the tears I've rescinded the right to cry over her. Callie freezes at my obvious urge to flee, her lower lip trembling slightly as she looks at me.

The whisper carries across the distance between us like there's not a huge obstacle blocking our path towards each other: I love you.

I still believe her, and I'm powerless against the answering confession. I'm not sure I'd want to stop it if I could. I need her to know, to remember as she lies beside him tonight that I wish things were different with an urgency that surpasses desperation. I love you too, Callie. So much.

As I watch, she steels herself, a deep breath swelling her chest as she straightens her back, knowing that this had to happen, that she has to leave to come back to me. The adage of setting something free has never resonated so well, or seemed so cruel. I'm going to tell him.

I'll be waiting. The sad thing is; I know that that's true.

She turns away from me so slowly that I know the pain is wracking her body the same way it is mine, but she's the one with the power to change it. I try to watch her leave, but the tears spill over, blurring my vision. By the time I've forced them back, she's gone.

Trudging back into my apartment, I collapse back against the door. I hope that this is the last time I kiss her and have to watch her walk away; slowly sinking to the floor as I let my sorrow overtake me.


	13. Chapter 13

I wake up with the sore, reddened eyes that always follow a night of crying, the detritus of the night's sadness on the coffee table in front of me. The empty wine bottles speak of further explanation for the pounding in my head than the dampness that I can still feel against my cheek. I've never, ever let a woman get to me like this, and I couldn't explain why Callie is the exception to a lifetime of rules if a gun was held to my head. She just is.

What she also is, is married. I force that thought to the forefront of my mind, hoping it provides the impetus I need to stop wallowing in my own misery.

Apparently, at some point last night before I really started drinking, I had the wherewithal to know that I was on a downward spiral that would require Tylenol this morning. I’m obscenely glad of that as I struggle onto my elbows and dry-swallow two of the tablets.

As soon as the throbbing in my head starts to dissipate, I become aware of another ache, flashes of the night’s dreaming emerging through alcohol-induced fog to replay on an endless loop.

Callie, her eyes clear and smile bright, whispering “It’s always been you” as she captured my lips in a soul-searing kiss.

Long caramel legs wrapped around me, heat emanating between us as slick warmth slides easily against me, Callie’s urgency to touch and be touched matching mine.

Soft lyrical proclamations of love; whispers that soothe the battle that rages inside me, the tone no longer just imaginary, the sound of “I love you” from her lips the exact twin of her words from last night. With every touch against my hyper-sensitive skin, Callie bestows a butterfly kiss on my lips, “I love you” warm as it washes over me, surrounding me with its reality, with the overjoyed feeling that erupts in my chest.

But it wasn’t true, just a dream, and I’m still in limbo, waiting for Callie to make a decision that she swears is easy, yet seems to be taking too damn long. And I can’t help but wonder if none of the things I’ve wondered are true. Maybe Callie just likes having both of us on puppet strings, dragging us wherever she needs or wants us next.

***

In the shower, I try washing away everything that’s passed in the last twenty-four hours, willing myself to lose – or at least hide – my soft underbelly. It doesn’t work, as the images from my dreams flood over me, leaving me wet from more than just the shower. As I soap my breasts and then stomach, I consider sliding lower, bringing myself the release that my body demands. It would be so easy, but I’d be thinking of Callie, and, right now I don’t want that, so I deny myself the satiation I crave. I know it will leave me on edge, which in the hospital might equate to mean, but mean might be exactly what I need to make it through the day. I don’t know which incarnation of Callie I’ll be faced with after she’s had the night to think about my ultimatum. I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

***

The second Callie sees me, she bounces towards me, and though I feel my brow furrowing slightly in my confusion, she has me wrapped in her arms before I can really try to understand what's going on here. I can't stop the question slipping past my lips as my arms encircle her without conscious thought or decision, "What are you doing?"

Her face nuzzles against my throat for just a second and I feel her smile against me as my pulse picks up speed at even this simple contact. Whatever her aim, she's not making things easy for me. "I'm saying hi to my friend." She releases me, and I loosen my grip as she steps back, my arms falling back to my side. She's too close, but not close enough to arise suspicion. The flowery scent of her perfume floats around us, and, despite myself, I breathe her in, cursing how weak I am around her.

Eventually, her body heat diminishes, my mind clearing further with each step back she takes. Even as I’m relieved, I’m disappointed, and the incongruity of the conflicting emotions throws me; just another of the hundred things I hate about the way my feelings have betrayed me, over and over again since I met Callie.

Seattle Grace was supposed to be a step forward for me, but I feel like I’m a teenager again, fighting with everything I have against feeling I don’t understand.

We stare at each other for a long time, emotions racing across Callie’s eyes so fast that I barely have time to register them. A cocky “Ladies” is what breaks our gaze. I turn, expecting to see the last person on earth I want anywhere near Callie, and I’m inordinately relieved to see Karev standing beside us, a thoughtful look on his face. It’s almost as though he’s putting the pieces together and figuring us out.

If he can, then so can anyone else, so I turn away, heading rapidly for my office. I don’t want Mark to hear it on the grapevine, or to figure it out. I want to know that she told him. I need to know that she chose me, that she didn’t come to me by default. I need to be able to trust that she wants to be with me as much as I want to be with her.

I said we could be friends, but I don’t think we could ever only be friends. There’d always be something more lingering beneath the surface.

So I’ll have to do the only thing I can.

Stay away.

***

Despite my best intentions, that plan lasts until lunch. I take it late because a surgery ran until two. By then, I’m starving, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be at risk of running into Callie, so I’m shocked when I walk into the cafeteria and she’s sitting at our table, my usual salad on a tray with a soda in front of the empty space across from her.

My hesitation  shows as I make my way towards her, trying to decide if it might be better to run in the opposite direction. It’s probably not a great plan if I want to avoid conflict, so I keep walking as though I’m facing my judge, jury, and executioner. Callie’s greeting holds a hint of infuriation, “Friends do eat lunch, Erica!”

I nod, trying to lighten up; to look and feel like I’m just talking to a friend. My smile feels forced, and it’s clearly how Callie sees it too, muttering under her breath, “Don’t try too hard, Hahn.”

“This isn’t easy, Torres,” is my immediate response, and I see her flinch at the venom I tried to keep from my tone. I’m angry again though, and I wish I could keep my emotions under control where Callie’s concerned, or that I could at leas understand them. She studies my face intently, reading me as easily as if I had my thoughts tattooed across my forehead.

I can see that she’s picking her words carefully, slowly maneuvering across the minefield to attempt to soothe me. “I know that… this is hard. I do. But… it’s just a little while, Erica. We just have to do the friend thing a little while.”

“I don’t think I can.” I push lettuce across my plate. It looks as lackluster as I feel, and I sigh heavily, trying to avoid Callie’s gaze. To meet her eyes might mean the downfall of my resolve, and I hate every time that my weakness is revealed to this woman. I still don’t really understand exactly what’s so special about her. I just know that she is. Maybe if I could unpick it, decode it, unveil the enigma that is my love for her, I could tackle it, or even beat it, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t.

“What?”

“It’s too hard to just be your friend, Callie. I don’t know how.”

“We were friends before.” She sounds small, and I still can’t look at her, unsure which section of the rollercoaster I’ll be propelled to by her face. As best I can, I need to remain calm, to get through this with as little emotional scarring as is possible.

“Not really. We tried and failed to be just friends.” It’s true, and I know that even she can’t deny the veracity of my statement. We tumbled over a friendship line that was two feet behind us when we first met, and now we’re clawing to get back to a point that never existed for us. It’s a losing battle that I don’t have the energy to fight. All I can do is try to stay out of the trenches while she decides on a strategy, a plan of action, a way for us to go forward without taking two steps back.

“We just need practice.”

“No. We don’t. We need space. I need space.” To not hurt every time I see you, is the thought that I leave unspoken as I push my chair back and lift my tray from the table. “Thanks for lunch.” I don’t turn around as I leave the cafeteria, not wanting to bear witness to the crestfallen look on her face.

***

I expect her to leave me alone after that; to let me have the time and space to push my feelings to the back of my mind. I can’t let myself be around her anymore if I want a chance to recover if her promises don’t come true. I expect her to have that much respect for me.

But I’m not surprised when she doesn’t.

As I step out into the drizzle that so aptly matches my mood, even in the darkness I see someone sheltering under an umbrella on the bench furthest from the lights that flood the hospital entrance as though it’s the middle of the day. I briefly wonder who’s sitting there, but I push the thought down as the options flash before me and Callie is one of them. My heart speeds up at the thought, and I can’t tell if its anticipation or anxiety that moistens my palms. I wish it could be neither. I wish I could be oblivious to her.

I’m cursing myself for not being able to keep her beneath my radar as I walk past the bench, and I’m halfway through a sigh that might be relief when a voice caresses the syllables of my name. It can only be Callie. No one else has ever sad my name that way but her. She lets it roll across her tongue, as though it’s a precious secret, the most treasured sound. When she says my name that way, it’s a siren call that I can’t refuse, any more than I could let a patient die so I don’t have to tie back my hair. It’s an automatic reaction to turn to face the sound.

She’s looking up at me from mascara-stained eyes, as though she’s been caught in the rain although the evidence says otherwise. The darkness has her shadowed from me, difficult to read in a way she’s never really been before. My heart feels like it’s beating out my chest as I take a shuddering breath and move, almost against my will, to sit beside her. I don’t know if I should be hopeful as I arrange our umbrellas so they don’t bump together. I’m getting a little wet now, the rain splashing against my jacket, but I focus on her, trying not to let myself jump to conclusions. I try to tell myself that she could be here to tell me that she can’t leave him, that she can’t ask for a divorce, that she can’t tell him that she doesn’t love him. I can’t see it though because I know she loves me and some part of me trusts implicitly in her heart, no matter how often she cracks mine open.

It takes all the willpower I have not to brush her cheek as I ask “What’s wrong, Callie?”

“I don’t know how. I know I have to, I just… don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how to do what?” The melancholy tone her voice has taken on throws me, and I have to hold tightly to the umbrella and clench my other fist to stop myself reaching out to pull Callie into an embrace. As much as it hurts me to be around her, the pain that cuts through me at the sight of the woman I’m not allowed to love so lost is sharper than that. The dark trails of makeup across her face tell me everything I need to know about her emotions, and I hate that she’s hurting. I hate that I hate that she’s hurting when I’m broken because of her.

“I’ve never had to do this before.” Her eyes well up with fresh tears and I have to remind myself that she’s not mine to comfort, and that I’m supposed to be remembering how to live without her.

“Callie, what are you talking about?” I can’t be her friend, I can’t be her lover, and I don’t want to admit – even to myself – the reasons why this pulls at my heart, ripping it further to shreds. I’m a heart surgeon, and I didn’t think it was possible for a heart to be more damaged than mine already was, but every day, Callie makes me feel more than anyone else ever has. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, if it confirms that what we have is worth fighting for, or is incontrovertible proof that Callie’s no good for me, but I know I was telling the truth when I told her I’d be waiting, no matter how long it takes her to leave Sloan. She makes me more Erica with every smile. But she’s not smiling now. Her sadness and confusion is painted in broad strokes across her face, her sorrow contorting her into a Callie I’ve never truly seen before.

I hate that all it does is make it harder for me to walk away.

I know I should tell her to find someone else to talk to, to call Addison, because Addison knows that Callie and I share something different than she and Mark do, but I can’t leave her this way. For the first time in days, maybe even weeks or months, all the shards of my heart are dragging me in one direction, and it’s not away from the woman who destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself. I’ve always tried to lead with my brain, but when emotions this strong are involved, can anyone really do that? So, I wait for Callie to answer, for the woman I love to articulate what has her a confused mess. I think I probably already know, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know how I feel that she might be asking me for advice on how to tell Sloan that they’re over, that she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, that there’s someone else. Part of me feels like that’s something we should do together, the discussion of the hows and whens and wheres, but another part just wants her to be certain, to do it now, to prove to me that there’s no question in her head or her heart as to who she truly wants to be with. And even if she did it yesterday, at this point, would that be enough to quell the questions that have overtaken me, the doubt that grows with every minute she’s someone else’s to love?  

 “I don’t know how to tell him… about us.”

And there it is, exactly what I was fearing, and I know now how I feel about Callie wanting to talk to me about Mark. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about them even in the same room, and I don’t need to hear all the reasons this is hard for her, especially since – thanks to the friend she should be talking to instead of me – I already know. And it wasn’t until that thought that I realized how much it bothers me that Callie’s not the one who told me why she almost feels obliged to stay with her husband.

Callie, though, is oblivious as she continues, “I’ve never had to break someone’s heart before. I don’t know how.”

That’s possibly the only thing she could have said to give me the impetus to leave. “You know how.” My words are full of the resentment I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t feel, and I’m moving away from her almost before I realize it.

Callie’s on her feet too, and, maybe for the first time, I don’t see how beautiful she is, or how desperately I want her. I see the woman who’s crushed my heart with almost every move she’s made, the woman who seemed happy to keep doing that until recently, giving me just enough to keep me beguiled by her, but not enough to ever truly make me happy. Instead of seeing her strength, I’m seeing her weakness, her idiocy, and all the things I’ve been completely blind to. “No, I don’t. Erica, I’ve never broken someone’s heart!”

I’m stunned; shocked into silence and stillness, a breathing statue with racing thoughts. They’re running too quickly for me to really grasp them, and even though I want to leave, to escape this conversation, this hopeless situation I was stupid enough to trap myself in, I can’t. I’m trying hard not to unleash my anger, and as the gap between Callie and I diminishes, I lose sight of why. “You break mine every day.”

The words are hissed, the venom real, and it stops Callie in her tracks the same way her words did me. How can she not have seen this? I thought she got it, I thought she knew how much I love her, how much I need for her to love me. I was sure that she finally saw how it’s destroying me to live this way, in this limbo I can’t escape as long as she’s around me.

She doesn’t. She so clearly doesn’t, and I find the strength somewhere inside to just walk away. I take two steps before the tears start falling, but my stride doesn’t falter, and I ignore the sobs that ring in my ears; both mine and hers.

***

The following day, I’m not scheduled to work, and instead of actively avoiding Callie the way I did the last day I had off, I passively ignore her. I don’t want to see her, talk to her, or so much as hear her voice until the words she’s saying are that she’s left him, or that she’s not going to leave him. I don’t want to even acknowledge that she exists until she’s made a final decision, either way. I need to think about myself instead of her for a while, and so that’s what I try to do. I laze in my apartment, refusing to do anything I don’t expressly want to do. The irresponsibility is nothing like me, and I’m surprised to find that it feels good. I set no goals, no timetable, and although there’s a paper I could be writing, laundry and cleaning that needs to be done, and cupboards that should likely be stocked, I put no pressure on myself at all. I read one of the books I’ve been meaning to pick up for a long time, and though most people probably wouldn’t consider a text book about forensic science to be light reading, something about it fascinates me. I think it’s the attention to detail, the specificity that’s both familiar and foreign to me. That world is so different to my own, and yet it stems from the same principals, and the same scientific advancement. Whatever it is, it’s interesting and involving enough that it takes my attention entirely away from the hospital and anything and everything there.

It’s getting dark before I decide I should find something to do, and I’m amazed that the day has passed so quietly and quickly. Before I hit on the idea of reading something unrelated to work, I was a little like  a caged animal, wanting to relax for one day in my all-too-stressful life but not really knowing how to do that. Even as I sat down though, I was thinking I’d kill an hour or two and that that would probably be interrupted by the shrill ring of my cell phone; the woman whose name I refused to think doing everything wrong again. But the day passed in peaceful silence except the iPod playing on the speakers in the corner of the room, and though I’ve achieved nothing, I feel good about it. I’m no further forward with the decisions I need to make, but, for today, that’s okay. For today, I’ve almost managed to forget about the pain that’s ever present in my chest.

Before I go back to work though, I need to figure out how to handle this thing that Callie and I have devolved into. I have to know how I’m going to handle her, if I’m going to engage her at all. And I have to get out of this apartment to do that. If I let all the memories of Callie in, as I’m sure I’m going to have to, I can’t do that where I live. It has to be somewhere that’s already tainted by the memory of her, somewhere that I can’t make it more difficult to be if this doesn’t turn out the way I hope. I knew when I got into this thing - this more than friends but never lovers mess - that she would probably never leave Sloan for me. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that. I don’t know if it was in that bar with her breath warm on my throat and her jealousy at the eyes of another woman on me, or if it was when she near as begged me to kiss her, one leg across my body and determination in her eyes, or if it was later than that, but I forgot the one rule I’ve always known; all cheaters are the same, they will never, ever leave their partner for their mistress, and even if they do, you can never truly trust them. Somewhere along the way, I decided that this was different somehow, that Callie and I could be the exception. It might not be. We might not be. I’m starting to see that now. I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I have to know how best to face her. My apartment already holds the essence of Callie, but I don’t want to make it worse, and, other than the hospital, there’s really only one place I can go that will forever be a tangible reminder of her whatever happens tomorrow, or the day after.

Shrugging on my jacket, I check the pocket for my keys and grab my purse. The jeans and sweater I’ve been wearing all day are adequate for silent contemplation on the waterfront, even if it will still be busy at this time of day. That may be better, even. In public, I can’t let my emotions take control and my brain can lead this battle with my heart for a change. The other way round hasn’t been serving me well recently and it’s about time my mind got its fair share of decision making.

The day hasn’t been quite as lonely as I intended for it to be though. When I head for the door, I notice a piece of paper has been slid beneath it at some point during the day. I fully expect it to be some kind of communication from the management of the building, though this is the kind of place where any correspondence is kept in locked cubby-holes for each apartment. I can’t think of anything else it could be, so it doesn’t even occur to me that I shouldn’t pick it up.

I turn the paper over, and a scrawl that shouldn’t be familiar, but is, meets my gaze. Erica, I miss my friend. We were friends, whatever you say, and I miss that. I miss you. Can you just be Erica again and I’ll just be Callie? Please? It’s signed off with a kiss that she’s crossed out and then replaced, as though she couldn’t decide where the friends line is drawn for us. The thing is, we were about 2 feet across that line before we even began anything that anyone could definitively say is something more than friendship, really. Emotionally we were over that fence a long time before I learned that making love to Callie is the most incredible experience I’ve ever had, even with the anvil that hangs above us in the form of her marriage. We’re so far past that line at this point that I don’t know if I could find it again, even if we could go back. And yet, even knowing that I can’t be near her without feeling things I’m not allowed to feel, without falling back into a pattern I’ve sworn not to repeat, the simple note warms something in my chest, and I find myself reconsidering the strict lineation I’ve already mapped in my mind as I drive downtown. What can I allow myself to have with Callie without making this situation impossible for myself? I don’t know.

I’m no closer to reaching an answer when I sit down on the bench closest to the spot that I felt Callie’s lips against mine for the first time. I want to be as specific as possible. I don’t want the entire of the area around Pike’s Place to become some kind of painful reminder. I still want to be able to come here. One of the reasons I brought Callie here the night I decided I was going to take a chance on her was that I love it so much. It’s so beautiful and full of life, a reminder of everything I work so hard to give people. It’s full of people living their day to day; the good, the bad and everything in between, and yet it can be so full of peace when the noise dies down. It’s a place where it’s okay to be alone, because you’re not really alone. There’s no one to try to make you talk, yet with just a few steps, you can be swallowed into a crowd and feel like you’re a part of the heartbeat of Seattle. This place, this life, this atmosphere… it’s why I didn’t look beyond Seattle Grace when it felt like it was time to take a step up towards the ultimate goal of Chief of Surgery at Hopkins. A part of it, at least. Seattle has felt like home for so long, and it’s where I learned to be self-sufficient, to make my own way through life, to take charge of my decisions and my future. That’s what I need to do now. It’s what I needed to do six months ago, but late is definitely better than never. This waterfront has helped me sort through the pieces of my life when it’s felt like it’s crashing around me before, and I’m hoping beyond hope that it can help me do it again.

I soon find that the problem with this spot has become that it’s the place I was probably happiest to be in Callie’s arms. I was so innocent back then in the joy of feeling her body warm against mine, in the intoxication that began with that first kiss. I didn’t know the pain that would come, I didn’t know anything but that Callie was beautiful, fun and captivating, and she was kissing me back. That was amazing to me back then, that I could be so interested in her at that she might maybe return that interest almost blew my mind, and I could probably make an argument that it actually did. Because my mind sure hasn’t been leading me recently. I’ve not come back here since that night, and the memory washes over me easily, tinting my thoughts with a hope that I have no reason to feel. I hate being out of control, and that comes as a surprise to no one who’s so much as heard my reputation, and being unable to dictate the flow of my thoughts and the reactions of my body is like a nightmare that I can’t wake from, at least with things the way they are. I can’t be with Callie, but I can’t truly want to be away from her.

As the air grows colder and the darkness folds in around me, I stare across the water, not seeing the lights of the boats as they float easily across the deceptively calm surface. I know that beneath the tranquil appearance, the water eddies and swirls, but from my standpoint, it’s clear as glass. I run through everything that’s brought me to this moment, and I’m still not sure where to go from here. This should be easy for me. It should be a simple matter of right and wrong but it’s not. It’s wrong to knowingly chase a relationship with a married woman, it’s wrong of Callie to look outside her marriage for the things she should be getting from it, but when we’re together and it’s just us with no outside distractions, it feels so right, like the world is finally falling into place. It’s wrong of Callie to try and put me in a position where fighting my feelings is so much harder, wrong of her to push for friendship when the lines that define us can shift so fast, but I understand the reasons why she wants that. I can’t fault her for not wanting to lose me, for wanting to remind me of how great we could be together in a different situation, because I want those things too. I want to be close to her, even if we can’t be together, but I don’t know if it’s something I’m capable of doing. It’s a vicious circle, and it’s a habit that I have to break, but I can’t see how. I can’t see a decision that doesn’t make me miserable. The only thing that stands a chance of stopping my heart from breaking is a decision that only Callie can make, so the only question I can really ask myself is, how long do I wait?

Eventually, the cold urges me into one of the many bars that surround the area, and before I walk in, I make sure that I notice the name. This isn’t a place I want to accidentally find myself in again, since tonight I intend to wallow in my misery somewhere that breaking down isn’t an option. If there isn’t an easy cure for the hurt that resides in my body over Callie Torres, I have to learn to live with it until time gives me clarity and perspective, or Callie finally commits to trying for a real future with me instead of a life of hiding in the shadows and waiting for Mark to leave before I can steal some happiness from her embrace.

Ordering whatever beer is on tap, I settle at the bar stool furthest from the door. As I cast my eyes across the room, I notice a woman who can’t seem to stop glancing my way. I’m not really interested, but it feels nice to know that Callie isn’t the only possibility for me. She might well be the only one that I want, but that won’t always be the way. If I have to, I’ll get over her; I’ll survive the heartbreak. I may never have compromised everything I am for someone before, but I have loved before, and I didn’t just give up when that relationship ended. I may not be able to see it right now, but whether Callie makes it possible for us to try to be together, or I get tired of the waiting, there will be an end to the purgatory in which I’m languishing. So, even though I still have no answers, and the only idea I have for dealing with Callie is still to avoid her, I have found hope to cling to tonight, and I suppose that makes it a worthy excursion. It’s not what I was looking for, but I’ll take it.

***

“Pirates or ninjas?” I frown as I turn towards Callie’s voice in the doorway, trying to keep all emotion from my voice. The tumult that rises inside me at the sight of her is impossible to quell, so I’m just trying not to let her see it. I think it works well enough; she hesitates before taking a step towards me. I knew I should have hidden myself away in my office, but I needed to feel the motion of the hospital around me, to hear the noises that it’s almost sick to find just a little comforting. This is what I’m used to though, where my whole life has been dedicated to get me, and anything that reinforces my self-worth is essential today.

“What?” I must have been more lost in thought than I realized, because I could swear the words that came out of her mouth were the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. No way did Callie just walk into the break room and ask a question that strange.

“Who’d win in a fight? Pirates or ninjas?” Except, apparently, she did.

“Does it matter?” My face must paint quite the picture, and it seems to be a hilarious one, if the laughter in Callie’s eyes is any indication. It’s layered with a million other emotions, but it’s definitely there, and even though my plan today was to avoid her, it feels good to be around her when she’s in this kind of mood. I don’t know what brought it on, but I’m not about to ask for fear of breaking it, and there’s far too much damage already where Callie and I are concerned. I can let us have this moment to just play at friends, for as long as the air stays clear of the confliction that plagues me in Callie’s presence, I can let us have this. It’s nice to remember that we can have fun, that there’s something more than the mess we created to our relationship. It’s nice to remember some of the feeling that I’m fighting for, the times when it’s just easy to be with Callie for everything she is beyond the woman who drives me crazy.

“The fate of the world might rest on your answer.” She grins at me, bright and cheerful, and it brings some levity to my soul.

“When would the fate of the world ever rest on whether ninjas or pirates would win in a fight.” Before Callie, I’d never have dreamed of participating in a conversation as silly as this, but with Callie, everything takes on a new element. This isn’t really my style, but I can’t deny that it’s brought a smile to my face, and for that reason, I’ll play along. Eventually.

“Now.” I feel the smile broaden on my lips, and I curse myself for allowing this moment to cheer me up so drastically. I’m probably only making it harder for myself to stay away from her, but to be honest, I’m not sure I really even want to be distant from Callie. Maybe it would even be my best weapon, trying to be the best friend as long as there are no allusions to the love we share. The reminder of how much more fun she has with me than with Mark might hasten her journey back to me.

I lean forward and drop the chart I was trying to concentrate on to the table, shifting slightly in the chair to face Callie. The pen is still in my hand, and I tap it absently as I consider my answer for a second. “Ninjas.” I semi-triumphantly drop the pen on the table too, and watch Callie, waiting for the punchline I’m sure is coming. Her face stays passive though, and I wonder what she’s waiting for. My voice is a little harsher than I intended it, with the dark suspicion that this is a joke at my expense, “What?”

Callie gestures as she steps forward, and I relax a little. “You can’t just say ‘ninjas’ and leave it that way! Why would ninjas win?”

I feel my brow furrow as I contemplate her. “The ninjas would win before the pirates even knew they were there. Better?”

“Yes! See, now I can argue.”

“You want to argue?” If she wants that, why didn’t she just walk in here and try to cross the boundaries she promised to respect?

“Not argue, argue. Fooling around. Just being friends.” Callie’s eyes seem to soften as she looks at me, but then she catches herself and continues “What if it was a fair fight?”

I’m confused again, and she sees it. “You’re not really cut out for this, are you? The pirates and the ninjas, if it was a fair fight and the pirates know the ninjas are there, who wins?”

“Stop jumping around so much. If the pirates know the ninjas are there, the ninjas still win. They still have more fighting skills.”

“But the pirates have swords; that gives them a pretty long reach.” She doesn’t sit down in one of the chairs beside me, sinking into the one across from me instead, with a cheeky grin, as if she’s expecting to change my mind, or have me give up on such an absurd conversation. While she’d probably normally be right, today it just feels good to be thinking about something so frivolous. All my thoughts have seemed so damn important recently, and this break from that is nice.

“The ninjas have weapons they can throw, Callie. And they’re much more flexible than the pirates. Just face it, the pirates would be annihilated.”

“Should have known you’d go for Team Flexible.” She laughs as she speaks, and I can’t help but catalog what a beautiful sight it is.

I also can’t help but laugh with her, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You win.”

“How does that mean I win? I know I win. I always win. What did you mean about Team Flexible?”

Callie pushes herself up from the chair, “I’ll leave you to figure that out yourself, Dr. Hahn.”

She turns just before she leaves, flashing me a heartfelt grin. She must read my confusion as to what just happened, because she looks at me with all the sincerity she can muster, and I feel it to my core. “We can have fun, Erica. It doesn’t always have to be life and death.” She’s gone before I can find any words to respond.

***

The next time I see her, I’m almost certain I smell a little like a muskrat. From that conversation in the break room I was paged straight into an emergency thoracotomy and I’ve been on my feet ever since. I don’t know if it’s Idiots Day in Seattle or something else is going on, but emergency after emergency rolled into the pit all day. I’ve been rushing from consult to OR and back again, and it’s nearing the end of my shift by the time I have a moment to breath. I stand on the bridge that overlooks the hospital lobby nursing a coffee, my scrub cap still on my head, thanking whatever power is out there that the hospital seems to be calming, and – though it’s been close – I haven’t lost any patients today. When Callie steps through the doors at one end of the walkway, I don’t think she’s been as lucky.  

As our eyes meet, I cringe internally. I’d give anything for anonymity in this moment, to just be another face in the crowd to Callie. Not because I don’t want to comfort her, but because I want to too much. Plus, there’s the smelling awful and looking worse issue. Callie doesn’t seem to see any of that though, her steps not faltering as she walks towards me. Her scrub cap is twisted in her hand; her hair a mess where strands have escaped the clips that held it back through the surgery that her face tells me was unsuccessful.

She comes to a stop in front of me, her eyes seeking mine beseechingly, begging me to let her have this moment, to just forget everything else but that she needs me to ground her, to remind her why we do this. I can’t deny her what I know is scant comfort for failure. Failure for us really is life or death, and after we lose someone, it’s pretty common for a boring 9-5 desk job to start looking appealing. We can’t wallow for long, we can’t become too attached, but when you fail to help someone, when all you can do is watch them die… it’s human nature to go back over every step, to make sure that there really is nothing more you could have done. And those times you do find a mistake, a split-second hesitation that means the different between life and death? Those are the patients that stay with you, the memories that spur you to be better, to never let it happen again. We have to know. We have to know if we helped hasten a death we were trying to prevent. Holding my coffee towards Callie is my silent permission. I can give her this because I so easily could have needed the same today.

Wrapping both hands around the cup, Callie’s hands brush mine, but she doesn’t smile like I know she would any other time. She doesn’t seem to savor the taste of the coffee as she brings it to her lips either and I know she’s not really here. She needs me to be here, but she’s not quite here yet. She’s still in surgery, envisioning everything that led her to seek me out.

Not wanting to break her reverie, I wait for her to stop looking through me, trying to keep the look on my face patient and open, wanting her to know that I’m ready to listen to her whenever she’s ready to talk. Finally she sighs deeply and the connection between our eyes is reestablished. It’s just a moment before she drops her gaze to the coffee, but it’s enough for me to know that she’s back here with me, fully and completely. That’s a good thing. It means she’s not obsessing, not involved or any of a hundred other things that make a surgeon burn out.

“I scrubbed in with Shepherd on a craniotomy. Just a little boy on his way to soccer practice, he ends up with a subdural hematoma and a displaced tibial plateau fracture. He stroked out on the table. There was nothing we could do.” She sounds so pained, and I want to pull her into my arms. Even if I could, though, I wouldn’t. Most of the surgical staff are still in the OR, but this is still a public place, and while I may have brought my drama inside these walls, I’ll be damned if I’ll let it play out in front of everyone else. I settle for rubbing her shoulder, a poor substitute for what I know we both truly wish for.

“I’d hug you, but I smell like a muskrat.”

“You smell just fine.” As if to prove her point, Callie takes a minute step closer. There’s no reason for her to do it other than she wants to, and I don’t know if that warms me or sets of screeching alarms at the unnecessary proximity. I’m well aware that where Callie Torres is concerned, my decision making is far from at its best. I don’t need the reminder.

“Callie.” It’s a warning, and I know she sees it, her position falling back to a more comfortable distance.

“There’s nothing wrong with reassuring your friend that she doesn’t smell. I’ve done it for Addison.”

Yes, but Addison she hasn’t slept with. It’s a thought I keep quiet, not even sure how we got round to this topic, and hating the questions that brief consideration has raised in me. I know the answer to that, even asked the question when Addison was visiting, I think, but the jealousy still starts to bear roots. I have to get control over my possessiveness. This wasn’t supposed to be about this, about us, and somehow I’ve made the conversation carry that undercurrent, and I know I have to be the one to fix it.

“Are you okay?” Callie inclines her head slightly, and with the new weight I’ve added to the conversation, I know it makes sense that she’s hesitant about what I’m really asking and rolling all the possibilities around in her head. “About the surgery. Are you okay?”

Callie’s sigh is heavy, and I don’t blame her. Okay isn’t really the word. What I’m really asking her to confirm is if she’s free of any guilt. I think she must be, but I have to check. “There was nothing we could do. I think the pressure in his brain shifted when Derek opened him up, and there was just nowhere we could go. He just… there was nothing we could have done differently.”

“That’s something at least.” I’m not good at this part. I’m uncertain what to say. I’ve never allowed myself to get close enough to my colleagues that they’ve sought me out to talk to after an experience that can only truly be understood by other surgeons. I know what I tell myself, and I’m hoping that I can fumble through this moment with Callie. She’s never had a problem steering our conversations before, so I’m hoping she’ll lead me to where she needs to go.

“It’s not enough though. I hate this part. He was seven years old. He should be kicking a ball around or watching TV. Maybe he should be in bed. Instead…” She sighs again, knowing I don’t need to hear where that little boy is instead of with his family.

Making a decision that I know might be stupid, I let my hand slide down her arm before looping it gently around her wrist. “Come with me.”

Callie follows easily, without even questioning my intentions. I lead us past the on-call room she’s probably half-expecting to be our destination and tug her into a nearby conference room instead. Closing the door behind us, I hesitate for a second before realizing that she did this for me, and the least I can do is offer her the same relief. If she finds any of the peace in my embrace that I felt when she comforted me about Tucker, the slight ache that will settle in my body until I can regain my equilibrium will be more than worth it.

Loosely, I wrap my arms around her, very carefully not pulling her in too close to my body, the way my arms seem to want to. I have default settings where Callie’s concerned, and in the balance of this moment, they need to be reprogrammed. This distance, the slightly awkward, no hip contact hug is safe. This is what friends do.

I wonder if friends do this until the moment feels like it’s been stretching out forever, but still don’t want to let each other go. I don’t think it is. Callie’s not the first friend I’ve ever had, but she is the first friend I’ve ever had who I love so hard it burns and sometimes it’s too difficult to tell the difference.

She chuckles slightly into my throat, and I feel the reverberation in my spine. “I look like a zombie.”

“Shh. You look beautiful.” I know it’s a dangerous thing to say a split second after I say it, but the damage is already done, and I feel Callie melt a little more into our embrace.

Time stretches onwards, minutes ticking by in silence except for the sounds of our breath intermingled in the air around us. There’s nothing but us in the world, and my head is spinning, my heart is pounding, and I’m sure I’m going to stop breathing at any second. I don’t know what she does to me. I don’t know how to stop it. The response takes a long time to come, but when the woman in my arms speaks, I feel her words everywhere. “This is why I love you. You always know how to make things okay.” She snuggles in tighter to my body, and I stiffen, the antagonism between what I want to do and what I can do too much to process. My head’s screaming at me to run, and my heart calls for me to stay. It’s not the first time I feel it, and it won’t be the last. I wish I had the power to make things okay for me, but I handed control to her with the first brush of my lips, and however hard I try to win it back, Callie won’t let go.

Eventually, Callie’s arms drop from the small of my back and I let her go, instantly missing her warmth. Crossing my arms across my body, I find Callie’s eyes, and I’m relieved to see that some of the sorrow within them has faded.

“Thank you.” The words are a whisper and I can’t really be sure I heard them.

I can’t not respond though. “You’re welcome.”

We stare at each other for a few moments longer, rememorizing each other, words we can’t say lingering between us. I squeeze my eyes closed to break the connection, knowing that it’s not good for me to categorize every inch of her, to let our emotions hang between us like a cloak. They’d be so easy to slip on, it would be so easy to say she needs my comfort and my touch, that she needs to feel alive, to be reminded that we have to go on after every loss, but I can’t do that. I have to stick to the boundaries I’ve been so insistent on. I never imagined it would be this difficult.

I feel the atmosphere in the room shift, the intensity ratcheting down, and I open my eyes again. Callie has turned away from me, and her hand is on the door. She looks back at me over her shoulder. “I should go. I think I have another surgery on the board.” Her eyes drop to the door handle, and she whispers, “Thank you, Erica. Really. I needed that.”

As I watch her go, I try not to admit to myself that so did I. I can’t make sense of my emotions. Everything with Callie and I is so complicated, and yet, I still can’t completely tear myself away. I know where the lines should be, but I trample all over them in my efforts to be near her. As much as I know my life would be simpler, I can’t bring myself to regret the decision to come to Seattle Grace. And as much as I try to convince myself that I can, I can’t honestly wish that I’d never met her.

God, I hope she finds the words to tell Mark soon.

I push down the dark voice that asks me if soon will really be soon enough. It just has to be.


	14. Chapter 14

In the days that follow, I find myself falling back into a dangerous pattern. I can see it, I can feel it, but I can’t stop it. Whenever I’m not with Callie, there’s a powerful feeling that I should be somewhere else, that there’s something I really need to be doing, and it only abates when I’m close to her again. Hours with her doing nothing pass by in an instant, but when I’m actually doing something useful, like saving lives, the time seems to drag on, interminable. It makes no sense to me. Or it makes too much sense, and I don’t want to have to examine it too closely; I can never decide.

We’re not dating – I’m keeping us as close to ‘just friends’ as I possibly can – but we may as well be. Two weeks have gone by since I last kissed Callie, since I told her that this was all we could be, and Callie seems hell-bent on making this as hard as possible for me. There are only so many ‘innocent’ touches that leave me shaking I can take before I snap, and I don’t yet know what form that will take. It could be anger at her or misdirected at someone else – or it could be throwing her into the on-call room and ravishing her in ways I hate myself for still wanting. And yet, I can’t stop wanting her. I still wake up with visions of caramel skin and tempting curves branded on my mind, sheet clinging to my body, twisted around me by the writhing below dream-Callie that, apparently, somewhat equated to reality.  
I wish I knew a way to make it stop.

The cycle goes a lot like this: Callie makes a seemingly innocent comment that evolves into conversation, we talk for a while, the tension builds between us, and I have to leave before I do something that I probably should regret but wouldn’t. At least, not at first. The pain she’s caused me is still too fresh for me to do anything truly stupid, but the more comfortable our conversations become, the more I find myself imagining things I’m not allowed to imagine, the more I envision our lives intertwined.

Callie ups the ante at Joe’s one night. This was my concession. My heart decided that it couldn’t keep the distance from her that my head knows I need, so everywhere we spend time together is a place we could be interrupted at any moment. If she comes to my office, I pretend like I was just leaving, and we walk through the halls in conversation. If the room has a lock, I don’t go there with the all too tempting woman I can’t seem to stop wanting, not even for a second.

We’re sitting at our usual table, the very same one we slid into the first time we interacted outside hospital. Back then, I was so full of hope and my feelings were comprehensible, they made sense. I knew I was attracted to her, but it was under wraps, easy to control. I had no way of knowing that it would become this. The walls of the booth are high, and it’s pushing the limits of safe places to be with her, but I allow myself a little slack. I’ve been so good lately, trying to balance the most difficult friendship I’ve ever enjoyed with the hardest situation I’ve ever had to endure. I’ve been quite good at this in the last two weeks. I’ve managed to keep the tears and moments of longing to a bare minimum, and if that intensifies the dreams until they almost feel real, that’s just the way it has to be. I deserve a night where I give myself a little freedom. It’s still a safe way of letting go. Joe’s is always full of Seattle Grace staff, and half the surgical department are here tonight. Yang and her cronies are at the bar, Karev and that idiot O’Malley focused entirely on the TV screen, where the biggest concentration of people is watching the Mariners play the Angels. It doesn’t seem like it’s going so well, if the noises that erupt from the crowd every so often are any indication. The Emerald City Bar is about as busy as it ever gets, but fortunately Sloan is nowhere in sight. He won’t be anywhere in sight. He’s on call at the hospital, and Joe’s is the absolute last place he’s allowed to run off to. That’s another reason I can let myself relax a little. Callie and I haven’t exactly been scheduling our time together for when Mark is working, but it tends to be that way. Even then though, if we’re at their apartment, which I try to avoid… hospital scheduling is erratic, and we never know when Mark might be around. A part of me wants him to catch us, to see us talking too closely and figure us out, but another part knows that I’ll doubt Callie’s devotion to me for a long, long time if that happens. Maybe I’ll never be able to truly believe that she’s not with me by default, because I was just there when her marriage ended. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Because I know she means it when she says she loves me, and I want to trust that she loves me more than she ever loved him. I think I need that.

We’re talking about some singing reality show that Callie follows. Well, we’re debating its relevance to the world and to the industry it claims to represent. I’m really just playing devil’s advocate, enjoying the flashes of passion in her eyes whenever I tell her that it’s just glorified karaoke and a quick-shot at fame that will never result in any longevity. I think she was a little surprised at the intensity with which I can make the argument, but music is as big a part of my life as anyone else’s. We’re slowly shifting closer together as we talk, and I know I should stop that, but we’re in some safe little bubble here; a place where it’s okay that the definition of what we are to each other is so fluid and unmovable at the same time. Our boundaries are set by our location, not by our willpower, and that lifts some of the pressure that’s ever-present.

Every time someone yells over by the TV, Callie’s eyes shift towards them, her annoyance not shielded by the genuine smile that stays on her face. “I don’t get it.”

The non-sequitur throws me for a minute, and I frown slightly as I look at her. She takes the cue, continuing, “Baseball. I don’t get it. There’s no point to it, they barely seem to do anything and they’re rarely even attractive.”

“They’re not trying to look attractive. They’re playing baseball.” I don’t know where to start with the rest of it. There’s a logic inherent in baseball that intrigues me, an almost scientific parallel where angle + force = distance hit. I wouldn’t say I’m exactly a fan, but it’s one of the few sports I can bear to watch.

“Would it hurt to make the uniforms look better?” The look on Callie’s face is expectant, and I resign myself to discussing the finer points of baseball uniforms with her. Where she leads, I follow, apparently. Even on the ridiculous things.

“It might, actually. They kind of need the pads.”

“And what’s with the huge ass glove?”

“The mitt? Some of those balls are flying at 90 miles an hour, Cal. Can you imagine the damage to their hands without it?”

There’s something almost creepy about the smile that comes over her face. I know it’s the same kind of exhilaration I get when faced with a challenging cardio procedure, but to truly see that she has that same passion for orthopedics? It’s strange. And a sight to behold. It’s amazing to see her like that, but it flashes me back to uncomfortable places, places where she’s above me, around me, inside me. Places I’m definitely not allowed to think about with her, with the illusion of privacy around us.

My palms itch irresistibly to touch her, and I down the rest of my beer, pushing myself out of the booth where I know that anyone could turn and look at me at any second. “Another drink?” I don’t wait for an answer before I turn on a dime and hurry towards the bar. If it looks to anyone like I’m running away from something, it’s because I am. I don’t run away from things, but right now, I have no choice but to be someone I don’t recognize, because I don’t recognize the woman who’d stand there wanting more than anything to touch a married woman either. I think I like the coward more.

As I stand at the bar, it truly dawns on me for the first time how incredibly unfair this is. I’ve never felt this level of love before. Nothing has ever been enough to sustain me without my medical career, but for Callie, I’m increasingly certain I’d give it up for her. If she asked me to, if I had to; I would choose her over surgery, and I never, ever thought that would be possible. She would never ask that of me, but if the exchange was really having her to call mine, to love her in the way I want to be free to love her, I would do it. It’s not fair that I should find this love that I can’t handle, that’s overflowing inside of me because no one else can be allowed to see, and have this purgatory be my reward. It’s not right.

When Joe turns away from the bar to face me, I’m rapidly blinking back tears. This was not the time to notice that, or how schizophrenic I am when it comes to my feelings towards Callie. My head is such a confused mess that my emotions can turn in an instant, on a single thought.

“You okay, Dr Hahn?”

Finding Joe’s eyes on me and clearly reading the concern within them, I force a smile. It’s small and obviously not genuine, but it does - just barely - qualify as a smile. “Two of the same please, Joe?” I know I sound exhausted, but I am. I’ve been fighting with myself for far too long. Joe doesn’t move immediately, his eyes boring into mine with laser precision. He’s almost begging me to make him the stereotypical bartender, but I have my suspicions that Joe is at least some of the reason why everyone at Seattle Grace is in each others’ business. Still, I do eventually want the beers, so I concede a little. “I’m fine, Joe. It’s just been a long week.”

Sensing he’s not going to get the information I know he’s searching for, Joe brings me the drinks. I’m grateful for the moment that his back is turned; it gives me time to breathe, time to soothe my equilibrium and prepare myself for an awkward return to the booth. Callie will almost definitely ask why I disappeared so quickly, and I honestly don’t know what I can tell her. I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t tell her the truth, either. I can’t let her know that just the promise of the warmth of her body sets my nerves on fire, that when she looks at me with such obvious affection as she did earlier, it becomes almost impossible to kiss her; that I had to leave before I did something really stupid, something we’d probably regret. However much we wanted it at the time.

Before Joe slides the beers towards me, he seeks out my eyes again, holding the contact. The distinct possibility is that he’s trying to psych me out, but I can’t be cowed this way. Only one person in the world holds the power to manipulate me this way right now, and the owner of the closest bar to the hospital I work at certainly isn’t her. With a heavy sigh, Joe pushes the beers toward me. Just as I turn to go, my name falls from his lips, and I turn back to him, starting to feel the irritation creeping up my spine. “You and Dr Torres? You fit better than she and Sloan ever did.”

I offer him another smile, this one pained because of all the things Callie and I so clearly have together that we’re holding back from because of one stupid mistake. One desperate, silly, thoughtless action that’s bound her in a way it sometimes seems so clear she doesn’t want to be bound. “We’ll see.”

That’s all Joe’s getting and he knows it, already turning away as he speaks. “She’ll make the right decision. Give her time.”

Yes, I’m thinking, as I walk back to the table as though I’m about to face a firing squad, but how much more time is she going to need? It doesn’t even surprise me that people see through the friendship façade Callie and I struggle to keep intact to what’s really there underneath, not anymore. The only surprise is that Sloan has yet to put the pieces together. Probably because he doesn’t really want to believe that it’s true; that Callie isn’t his to keep, and maybe she was never even his for a little while. I know how much that hurts to realize, but I’m also selfish, like everyone else. I took an oath to do no harm, and what I’m praying for will do irreparable harm to Mark, but… better him than me. If she’s going to break someone’s heart, better his than mine. It doesn’t make me a great person, but it does make me entirely human. We all want to believe we’re capable of great sacrifice, and maybe we are, but this… this is beyond what any benevolent God would ask me to suffer.

When I place one of the beers in front of Callie and settle back into my seat at the safe distance I established at the beginning of the night, she doesn’t question me at all. It’s a relief that sends the air rushing from my lungs in a weak laugh, and she laughs in response. “Thanks. Joe ask you silly questions about baseball too?”

Wondering if the look on my face is somewhere close to harried or if Callie was just watching me while I stood at the bar, my words come almost on autopilot. “I think Joe knows about baseball.” I gesture back toward the bar, where Joe is once again at the end of the bar closest to the crowd. He could just be hanging around that area since that’s where most of his customers will be ordering from, but from the way his eyes linger on the screen and he participates in the banter, he’s definitely interested in the game. And like Callie pointed out, it is unlikely to be for the flattering outfits or any other reason that isn’t entirely about the sport.

A loud cheer emanates from the group near the television, and Callie’s sighs heavily, “I don’t get the fascination with sport.”

“I think I do.”

“So explain it to me.”

I wonder what she’s doing, but I go along with her anyway. Sport should be another safe, non-suggestive subject, something to alleviate the tension that still builds in the air every time we’re together for more than a few minutes at a time. Sometimes I think that something a whole lot bigger than us is pushing us together, and no matter how hard we try to pull away, we’ll never be able to succeed. And then I remember that I’m a rational woman, and I believe in free will and autonomy, not fate and destiny.

“It’s about escape. If we care about hitting a ball or how many baskets we can score, it takes us away from anything else that’s going on. It’s a release. You yell and scream and cheer, and somehow it makes things easier. It’s something to care about that doesn’t really matter, instead of worrying about bills, or love, or work. It gives us somewhere we fit in. Something to talk about with people. It gives us competition.”

“Should have known you’d thrive on the competition aspect.” Callie smiles at me, her voice slightly breathy, and I’m not sure if it’s just my imagination, but she seems like she’s closer than she was when I sat back down.

“No. It’s not about that for me. I compete every day. You know that. You do it too. We’re fighting death and sickness and each other. I don’t want competition when I get home.” I drop my gaze to the table, and when I look back up again, Callie’s definitely closer.

She doesn’t give me a chance to get any words out. “So what is it?”

“The simplicity.” The distance between us is still friendly, but the crackling in the air isn’t. That probably is just my imagination, but it feels like something’s pressing in on us, binding us closer, reminding us of all the things we’ve said are behind us for now, of all the things that we’re very carefully not talking about.

“Simplicity?” Callie frowns, and I can’t help but laugh, low and throaty. It doesn’t help to alleviate the atmosphere. The tension is thick in the scant inches of air that now separate us, and I have no idea how she even got so close. I have no idea how I’m supposed to move away.

“Yes. Think about it. If you do everything right, if you outscore your opponent, you win. It’s not that simple in life. Sometimes you lose even when you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do to even compete.” It doesn’t feel like I’m talking about sports anymore, and I’m sure that Callie knows it too. Maybe this was even her plan all along, but I think that’s paranoia. That stems from my inability to change the way I feel about her. If I could… I think I would. This hurts too much. It’s too hard to be this close to her and not be able to touch her. It’s too much to ask of me.

Callie clears her throat, and I know for certain that it’s not just me who senses the change in the atmosphere around us, the heavy weight of everything we really are to each other. “And sometimes it’s not even a competition.” Her words are soft, and I know she’s trying to reassure me.

It doesn’t work.

Her hand lands on my knee, squeezing slightly in an attempt to soothe my clearly battered emotions. All I feel though is the spark that begins with that one point of contact and infuses my body with a heat I don’t want to feel. I wish my nerve endings weren’t so alive to Callie, that I could just let myself enjoy the contact that’s clearly supposed to be friendly. And then I glance over at her. Beneath the concern, genuine as it is, there’s something else, something that tells me she’s enjoying pushing the boundaries. It shouldn’t surprise me, after the weeks that led up to the night that changed my life and the way I see myself. The night that we gave into the need to touch each other, the need to be as close as physically possible. I know that what Callie truly wants is for our relationship to continue quietly while she searches for the words to tell Mark about us. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s more insidious than that and she never, ever intends to tell Mark. I waver back and forth on that point with the same regularity that I hold a scalpel, but the thought still freezes me to the core.

Pushing her hand from my leg, I do the only thing I think I can: I snap “Don’t. Don’t lie to me, Callie.”

“Lie to you?” Her brow furrows, honest confusion blending with her beauty in a head-tilt that somehow makes her even more endearing, even harder to resist. I didn’t know that was possible.

“If it wasn’t a competition, if there wasn’t something that you’re clinging to… you’d have left him already.”

“Erica!” Callie reaches a hand out, but I swing my arm away from her touch. I can’t have her touch me right now. I’m picking the fight we need to have for all the wrong reasons. It’s not because I’m really angered by her words. It’s because I’m poised on the verge of giving in, of leaning in to kiss her, of bowing to the feeling of inevitability that’s bearing down on me. Gamely, Callie tries to continue, “You should know that’s not true.”

I’ve never felt more disdain for myself, and I don’t like the feeling. I don’t like that Callie can inspire this self-loathing in me as easily as she inspires love, and, sometimes, when I can forget that she’s married, as easily as she makes me feel like she loves me more than anyone ever has before. It’s a dangerous, potent cocktail that’s no good for me. I have to stay away from her. I have to. Before she makes me do something else I regret.

Ignoring the little voice in my head that points out that Callie isn’t making me do anything, I push myself from the booth with enough force that I stumble a little as I stand. Turning, trying to hold onto the anger as I see the loss that’s wrought across her face, I toss a glance over my shoulder to the crowd near the bar. They could hear me if I yell, if I really let loose the way my frustration is begging me to, so instead, I hiss: “I know that if you want someone else enough to cheat, then the relationship you're in isn't working, and you should break it off before anything happens with someone else. You should have enough respect for the person you're with to tell them that things aren't working anymore.” With that, I stalk out of Joe’s. The thing is; I’m not really angry with Callie. I’m angry at myself for being so tempted by her, for how close I came to caving in, how I nearly compromised my own insistence that she has to tell Mark if she wants to be with me.

***  
Callie approaches me hesitantly when we cross paths the following morning, her head bowed slightly and doubt showing in her eyes. I don’t speak, not trusting myself to say the things I think I need to say, not trusting myself not to lash out. She’d deserve it, I know that, but I’m tired of it all. I’m just… tired. I want this over one way or another. I want to start rebuilding my life, and I just want it over. I want a decision, I want some action. I have to move forward, and I just want to know if it’s with or without her. I can’t deny that without her it will be so much harder, but I can’t keep running this over and over in my mind, hoping desperately for something that I’m not sure is going to happen. I can’t do it anymore.  
“I’m sorry.” They’re not the words I’m expecting to hear, but I don’t think they really mean anything right now. I’ve heard her excuses, as bad as they are, and there’s only two reasons I want to talk to her in this moment: if I’m needed for a consult, or if she’s about to tell me that what I’ve been praying for has finally happened.  
Taking a deep breath, I pull on the Dr Hahn mask that has always worked for me in the past. I don’t want to treat Callie this way, but I have no choice but to. “Did you want something, Dr. Torres?” There’s a flash of stone in my words, and I can tell by the way Callie’s eyes widen that she hears it.

“Erica?” Her voice is small, but I don’t bow to it. I just keep looking at her, the expectant look on my face never wavering. Glancing down at the floor, Callie mumbles “I guess not,” before she turns around, hurrying back down the hall in a way that tells me she wants to be as far away from me as possible as quickly as possible so she can cry. I ignore the way my heart clenches painfully, telling myself that this is what I wanted as hard as I can. I have surgeries to do, and I need to decide which of the residents is going to be with me today. I’m hoping for Grey; she’s semi-competent, not a kiss ass, and too intimidated by me to chatter away all day, but I know she’s working on a clinical trial with Shepherd, so I don’t expect to get her. Maybe I’ll ask Bailey for Karev. Maybe someone who’s not afraid of me is exactly what I need today anyway. If I snap at him, Karev won’t be damaged by it, and if he snaps back, it will give me the excuse to do the yelling I need to do without having what amounts to half a doctor on my service for the rest of the day.

All day, I distract myself this way, thinking about the junior doctors who make it so hard to teach them, about nothing but my work. Every time my mind tries to wander, I force it back to the topic at hand, asking Karev question after question during a CABG. It’s a surgery so routine that I rarely have to think about it, and listening to and correcting Karev on the rare occasions he doesn’t know the answer keeps me focused in the moment. It’s the most tiring day I’ve ever had, and I still have an on call shift to complete. When 5 o’clock rolls around, I dismiss Karev with a gruff “Nice work,” and instead of the toadying response I’m sure any of the others would have given me, Karev just nods and goes on his way, probably to go play his part in whatever drama is overshadowing that little group this week.

Stumbling into an on call room, I lock the door behind me so I can’t be disturbed, kick off my shoes, and collapse onto one of the beds. I’m certain that sleep won’t find me quickly, but my exhaustion is so complete that I drift off easily, not waking until I’m summoned by my pager nearly six hours later. That’s a pretty good stretch of sleep for me lately, and I’m feeling quite refreshed as I haul ass down to the trauma bay.

The junior resident on call is Stevens and she meets me in the bay, but fortunately some of her cheerleader Barbie enthusiasm seems to be missing at one in the morning. “What’s going on?” is forced out from behind a small yawn, and I lead her to the ambulance bay, watching as the driver comes to a halt.

We leap forward, listening to the paramedic as she explains to us what has happened. “Patient is Maria Duvall, 37, in her third trimester. I curse the fact that we don’t have a pediatric surgeon on staff anymore, but some of my disgruntlement is salvaged with the paramedic’s next words, “Patient presents with sudden onset severe pain in the chest, hypertension, but no diaphoresis.” That instantly makes me suspect an aortic dissection or aneurysm, and I snap off orders for an MRI as we hurry through the hospital.

Sure enough, the MRI confirms an ascending aortic dissection, so we rush into surgery, and I’m glad for the sleep I managed to get earlier in the evening. It’s a good job that Stevens manages to keep a handle on her obvious fatigue, her hand remaining steady throughout the hours of surgery. I don’t bother trying to quiz her, just directing her as I need her. My concentration needs to be on this patient, and we have to monitor the baby too, just in case. Stevens’ clear flair for obstetrics is more useful than I could have imagined, and for once, I’m actually glad to have her in the OR with me.

The clock has rolled round to five in the morning by the time the patient is stable again, and we scrub out in silence. As we leave the scrub room, I look her over, rethinking the instructions I was about to give her to monitor the patient for the next few hours. She looks like she’d be completely useless by her bedside. “Get your intern to monitor her and page me if anything changes. Go home, grab a few hours sleep. Nice work tonight, Stevens.” I think she’s scheduled to work tomorrow too, and if she doesn’t get some rest, I fear for the patients that will come under her care. That’s the only explanation that comes to me.

Glancing at my watch, I decide that the three hours sleep I could get before my next shift starts is worth an attempt, and I head off down the corridor in the opposite direction to the relieved resident. As I turn the final corner before I reach my favored on call room, my relatively upbeat mood shatters.

Callie is standing at the nurses’ station, her eyes unfocused until she notices me. It’s a shock to my system to even see her. All day, I’ve been avoiding her, almost unconsciously, and I didn’t realize that she was on-call tonight too. The corridor is eerily empty as I glance around us, and it’s too late for me to fake a page. I could leave with no reasoning, or something that I’ve just remembered, but I just want this conversation out of the way so I can catch a few hours sleep while the hospital is quiet. Callie’s persistent, and I know she knows the on-call room is where I was heading. I know she’ll stand here until I come back. There are others in the hospital of course, but this one is the furthest away from the foot traffic, and, strangely, the one least used for activities other than sleeping. I have a theory that the doctors in this hospital are all secretly exhibitionists, and that’s why none of them seem to have a problem playing out their messy personal lives in the public arena. Not that I’m in any position to judge anyone for their messy personal life. The proof is standing in front of me, watching me with watery eyes. She bites her lip, and I have to force down the urge to comfort her, even in the smallest of ways. The power that Callie has over me is ridiculous, but I’m making a conscious decision not to let it control me any more. As much as I can avoid it, at least.

I don’t move as she walks toward me, her steps tentative, as though she’s unsure if I’ll let her talk to me. She stops further away than she normally would, and I feel grateful. My emotional pendulum is swinging out of control again, and I don’t know what’s about to happen. Depending on what she says, my reaction could go in any one of a million directions. I hate that she has the power to do that to me. I hate that I don’t have any control of my feelings. I’m too far over my head.

“Hey.” Her head dips down slightly, her hair falling in her face, and she looks back up at me. “I, erm, I was paged for a consult, and I saw your name on the board. How’d it go?” Her hesitation is somehow endearing, and I scold myself for the thought.

“My patient’s stable.” My voice comes out surprisingly smooth, and I’m glad that Callie chose an us-neutral subject to open the conversation. I know that’s the direction we’re heading in, but the few seconds not actively thinking about how we continue to handle this indecision between us is a relief.

“Good. That’s… I’m glad.” She shakes her head slightly, as if telling herself that what she just said is stupid.

She’s cute like this, and I never thought that would be something I’d find appealing, but on Callie, it is. I disregard the fact that I’m so stupidly in love with her that almost everything she does makes me love her more. “It is. She was in her last trimester of pregnancy, and the baby’s okay too. You should tell Addison that she trained Stevens well.”

There’s an almost imperceptible tightening of Callie’s face at the mention of Stevens, and I realize that she probably isn’t the best topic of conversation. By all accounts, her relationship with O’Malley is long over, but there’s a lingering animosity between the two women involved, and I know that well. Trying to steer back away from the subject, I ask her, “How did the consult go?”

She frowns, and I offer her an apologetic grin. “They woke me up to go look at an X-Ray. Damn incompetent interns. The guy’s leg wasn’t even broken.” Only a surgeon could be irritated about that. To be woken up on call for something that doesn’t end in the OR is one of the most frustrating experiences we can have. The adrenaline starts to flow as soon as our pagers sound, and it’s a bitch to get rid of it if we don’t get our hands on a scalpel.

“Can’t sleep?” I don’t know if she’s angling for an invitation to join me, if she wants me to ask her if she thinks she might sleep better beside me, but I am certain that I’m not going to offer it, as much as a part of me wants to.

She shakes her head, “Too wired.”

“We could go grab some hot chocolate.”

That’s the best offer she’s getting from me, but she smiles anyway, shaking her head. “From the machines?”

She wrinkles her nose and I can’t help but laugh at the disgust that’s painted across her features. “I see your point.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, our smiles freezing as our eyes lock, the gaze almost as good as a touch. The smiles fall from our faces slowly as the walls start to feel like their closing in on us. I have to close my eyes to break our gaze, afraid of all the things I’m starting to feel tempted to do. I hear her deep, unsteady breath though as she prepares herself to speak, and I hold my own breath, hoping and praying that she isn’t about to make things impossibly harder. “I’m telling him today, Erica. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I’m happy with him when all I want is to be with you. Not anymore.”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I thought I’d feel a million things in this moment; an elation so strong it’s what happiness would be if it could be bottled and sold, anger that it’s taken her so long to walk the road towards me, a rush of love that overpowers me. I didn’t expect to feel doubtful, for the disbelief that is running through my veins to be all that’s in my mind. I’ve wanted this, desperately, with an intensity that’s broken me, but now that she’s saying it’s time, I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure that my emotions when it comes to her are settled enough that I can be who she’s going to need me to be. I’m not sure that I even trust her enough to believe that this isn’t just another false start for us just like those that have come before. My eyes open slowly and I force a weak smile as Callie crosses the distance between us in an instant. She reads me so well sometimes. How is it that she’s missed what she’s put me through since I met her? How is it that she couldn’t see my pain before, not really?

Raising a hand to cup my face, Callie looks deeply into my eyes, and I can see that she thinks she means what she says. She means it now, standing in front of me, her thumb stroking gently across my cheekbone. It freezes me in place, and, despite myself, I want to believe her. I do believe her, that she intends to tell him, but until it’s happened, until we can really make a decision on where we go from that moment, I can’t take it as fact. How do I know that she won’t freak out; that she won’t back down from the conversation as soon as it’s time to tell Mark the truth? I don’t. I’m protecting my heart now, but it’s too little, too late. I should have protected it before it belonged to Callie, before I gave it to her and she broke it over and over again. She might be the only person who can fix it, but I don’t know that. I don’t know anything. “Erica. I am going to tell him. It’s not right that I go home to him when I want to come home to you.”

I’ve been telling her that for months, but I suppose it’s better that she catches on now than never. I search my brain for words that won’t come, and Callie takes a step back. My cheek feels cold without her palm to warm it, and, almost beneath my notice, I raise my own hand to trap what heat that still remains. Closing my eyes once more, I take a shuddering breath, trying desperately to calm my racing thoughts. There has to be something I know how to say. I’ve been using the English language for long enough that I should be able to string a coherent sentence together. Hell, I’d even take a word right now. There must be something in my mind that’s appropriate for this situation.

Callie seems to take it in stride though, and it’s so different from the hesitant, uncertain, incapable of making a decision Callie that I’ve come to expect that it throws me even more off-balance. If any of our colleagues stumbled upon us right now, I’m sure they’d have no choice but to wonder when I was replaced by a goldfish. I’m struck dumb by the resolve I can see in Callie’s face and body. “You don’t believe me?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, and that’s probably better for us both. I can’t predict which of the thoughts that cross my brain would have fallen from my mouth. “That’s okay. I get that, Erica, I do. I’ve given you no reason to trust me. I’ve backed away from this too often, but I promise you. God, baby, I swear to you. I want to be with you. I’ve wanted to be with you for so long, and I can’t take not being able to hold you anymore. Mark… he’s so good to me. But he’s not good for me. He doesn’t make me happy. You make me happy. I want to be with you, Erica. Please, please believe me. If you never believe another thing I say, please believe that I love you.”

Those three words from Callie still set my heart racing. I’ve never been the kind of girl who gets tied up in this stuff, but who I am with Callie? It’s a different person. I’m still flawed, but I’m a better person for loving her, and though I’ve made decisions I regret, though I’ve been stupid time and time again when it comes to her… hearing her say that she loves me makes so much of the pain drift away. It can’t all disappear, and I can’t revel in the words the way that I want to, but somehow this whole situation becomes more bearable. I can’t explain it, but I trust those words from her more than I’ve ever trusted anything, even science. It’s the look on her face when she says them, the depth of emotion in deep brown eyes. It’s the tone of her voice, the way she pauses just before she speaks as though she’s about to say the most important thing in the world. And she is saying the most important thing in the world. That she loves me is the most important thing in the world. Everything else is just background noise.

The words are hard, but they’re the only things I can say. I can’t lie to her. It goes against everything in me. “I do.” My eyes find hers again and hold them. I’m trying to pour everything I’m feeling into her, to make her understand without having to say the words how very much I love her, and how deeply I trust those words from her lips. I’m sure I’m trusting her too easily, that I shouldn’t believe her just because she says it, but I feel the truth of those three words running through me every single time she looks at me.

“You do?” Her words are laced with emotion, sounding a little choked, like she was expecting to have to argue her point. The idea that she was prepared to thrills me more than it should. I’m starting to believe that she’s ready to fight for what so clearly flows between us; this connection we can’t deny.

I smile gently at her, a little sadly, knowing that the way things are isn’t good enough, no matter how much I love her, how much she loves me. “Yes.”

The simple word washes over us both, and I watch the relief crest over her face, all other emotions dissipating in its wake. Before I realize what’s happening, Callie’s arms are wrapped around me, an almost exuberant laugh in my ear, her curves pressed to my own. I feel the desire start to build inside me, and yet I don’t pull away. I slide my own arms around her back, letting myself have this moment, this one moment of joy in the emotional battlefield my life has become since I met her. She murmurs against me, “God, Erica, I miss touching you.” Her voice is husky and I can’t stop the warmth that trickles down my spine in response.

Reluctantly, I disentangle myself from the embrace, trying desperately to push down the desire that’s rising in me. She might well be about to tell Mark that she can’t be with him anymore, but she hasn’t done it yet, and I’m trying to temper myself, to not rush into something we’re not ready for yet. It seems ridiculous that there’s anything we’re not yet ready for, but I know that it’s true. My body doesn’t want to listen to me though, and I find it harder than I should to take two steps back, to put distance between us that’s desperately needed.

Callie looks a little lost as I watch her, and she crosses her arms across her chest as though she’s trying to stop herself from reaching out to touch me again. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a lot that Callie could be apologizing for, but I think this apology is for the moment we just shared, and I’m not sure that the regret is needed. “What for? Friends are allowed to hug. Especially when they’ve shared good news.” I shouldn’t jump to believe her, and I know that the reason my belief comes so easily is because I want so badly for her words to be true. I really want to end my shift tomorrow with the certainty that Callie and I finally have a starting point, knowing that we can begin to truly explore what we mean to each other. I’m trying to force down the frisson of heat that washes across me at her answering smile, but I’m not very successful.

It’s even harder to ignore it at her next words. “We’re not friends though. At least, I don’t want us to be. Not just friends, anyway.” I can sense that she’s fighting the urge to babble, and I take another step back to stop myself from sweeping her up into my arms and showing her exactly how much I want us to not just be friends. Even after everything. Maybe especially after everything.

I’m struggling to keep my hormones in check at the simple idea that she’s finally ready to move forward in this dance we’ve been doing for far too long now. It’s ridiculous that I respond this strongly to her, and I know it is, but it doesn’t stop this from being a battle I’m not sure I can win.

“Will you talk to me for a little while?” The question is quiet, but she inclines her head a little towards the on call room, and as my lust flares, I panic a little. If I set foot in that room with her, talking isn’t going to be on the agenda. I know she reads the confliction on my face because she continues, “Just until I’m tired again. I’m back on in a few hours. I need to sleep.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” My words are strained as I battle with myself again. This is how quickly I respond to her. Sometimes I feel like I’m a marionette and she’s pulling the strings. Even now, even with how close I truly believe we are to being able to do this without the added guilt of her marriage weighing us down, I’m not sure I can wait to touch her again.

Callie pouts at me. “Really, I just want to talk.”

That one pout is too much for me. I can’t take it any more. I can’t take the desire that washes across me with the undeniable strength of a tidal wave. That one adorable, sexy-as-hell pout sends all thoughts but one a million miles from my mind, and if my mind was working on the higher levels, I’d be pissed at myself for letting her get to me so easily. It’s not though, so the thought echoes again in my brain as I almost stalk towards her.

Fuck it.

What happens behind closed doors never stays hidden there. For a fateful moment, I forgot about that.

***

Callie’s above me, her hips pinning me in place, the warm, welcoming weight of her body undulating against mine. Our lips are fused, as they have been almost continuously since the door of the on-call room swung closed behind us and Callie flipped the lock. It’s been so long – too long – but this feeling is so familiar and new all at the same time. It’s always new with her. I could never tire of feeling her hands on me, her mouth on mine. She tastes of the coffee she’s been drinking during the long hours of what amounts to a double shift, but there’s something sweet beneath that, a taste that I’ve been addicted to since the first kiss we shared.

Sliding a hand beneath her shirt, I feel Callie moan more than I hear her. The skin under my fingertips is so warm, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder how I managed without this for so long. I clutch her tightly to me, threading my other hand into her hair, struggling to breath through my nose so I don’t have to relinquish her lips. Callie’s hands aren’t still either, the fabric of my top bunching up as she traces smooth paths up my side. Our tongues battle for dominance, and I know I’m losing, but I don’t care. How could I care when I’m still winning everything I’ve wanted for so long? Everything outside of this room, this moment, is forgotten. We’re the only people in the world right now, and I love her so damn much that this is the only time in months that I’ve felt whole. How did I ever tell her that we couldn’t do this? There’s an answer to that question nagging at the minute part of my brain that’s able to think of anything but the arousal that courses through me as Callie rubs one hand across my stomach and the muscles jump at her touch is all I can focus on. I’m not used to reacting this way to a woman. I’ve never been completely lost in abandon except for with Callie, never been so desperate for anyone else to touch me that I can’t think, can’t hardly breathe.

It feels like forever and no time at all until I have her naked beneath me, our breasts pressed together as I kiss her deeper. We both moan as our hardened nipples slide together, and I begin the slow journey down her body, doling out affection with my lips to each spot of skin I can reach. My fingers work against one nipple as I tease the other with my tongue, loving the feel of her in my mouth, the hard nub that tells me just how turned on she is. I slip my other hand between our bodies, letting my fingers dance in the slick heat that I inspired before continuing my path towards her core. I let my tongue trail across her stomach, tasting the salt of the perspiration that’s gathered, feeling her hips rise in none-too-subtle invitation as I take my time enjoying her body before burying my face between her legs and breathing in the scent that I want to believe is mine and mine alone.

This is benediction and damnation, everything I’ve wanted, but nothing I need. And it’s everything I need. The familiar taste of the woman I love is addictive as I slide my tongue through the wetness that’s gathered for me, and even as my body pushes towards her, begs desperately for me, my brain screams at me, begging me to think again about my capitulation, to pull away, to put an end to everything between us. She clearly doesn’t respect anything I say. This seduction has been coming since I told her it couldn’t happen anymore, and there’s no true sign that she’s any closer to ending her marriage. I have her word, but I’ve been burned that way before. The tangy sweetness of her heat fills my mouth, my tongue rolls across the bundle of nerves that begs for my attention and I moan against her, the reverberation pulling a groan from Callie’s chest. I’m an addict, and I know it as I slide two fingers into clenching velvet, pressing against her, pulling the reaction from her body. Sex Addict’s Anonymous couldn’t help me, and I don’t think there’s a twelve-step program solely for Callie Torres. There can’t be that many bleeding hearts in her wake. Callie murmurs my name, begs me not to stop and I don’t. Sucking her clit between my lips, I tap against the walls that encircle my fingers, and Callie’s body spasms, clenching, holding me in place as I drink in her orgasm.

With her release comes my own; a new clarity, an understanding I’ve not experienced before. Callie’s body relaxes, her grip on my hair loosens and the part of me that trusts her… I think it dies. Everything I should be feeling, dreamed of having when I could finally love her again, is absent; a gaping hole where reconciliation, love and the knowledge that she’s really mine should be. I move as Callie urges me towards her head, but instead of the kiss she’s wanting, I disentangle my fingers from her hair, glad that she’s naked but my scrub pants and shoes are still in place. It gives me the head start I need to get away from her, to put enough space between us that I can think this though and dampen my desire. As much as she wants to touch me, I can’t let her. I can’t give myself over to her without losing the last little shred of my heart that doesn’t belong entirely to her; without making everything I believe even more of a lie than I already have.

I ignore Callie’s plaintive call of “Erica” as I tug on my scrub top, not worrying about the bra that no one but Callie will ever link to me. And Callie knows I’ve been doing much worse than leaving my underwear in on-calls rooms. Callie knows I’m compromising everything I am, everything I know, everything I trust and need. I shrug my arms into my lab coat, refusing to look back as the noises behind me tell me that Callie’s already on her feet. I’m out the door before she can dress though, and I’m berating my own sheer stupidity, my uncharacteristic weakness, as I turn the corner and almost walk straight into the second to last person I have any wish to talk to right now.

Sloan flashes that cocky smile at me, running his eyes across my body; my disheveled clothing, my hair messy in a way that I’m sure screams sex. “Hahn, you dog.” He sounds bizarrely proud, happy in a way I can’t quite understand. I just had my hands buried inside his wife, and it colors my thinking. I can smell her all over me, and I’m surprised that Mark doesn’t recognize her scent. I’m almost certain that I would. It’s clear that he knows the basics of what I’ve just been doing. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m not sure I want to do that right now.” He smirks again, and I cringe, knowing that any second now, Callie will come barreling around the corner, chasing me. All I can hope is that Mark lets me escape before that happens. If he doesn’t see us together, maybe Callie can still tell him; maybe Callie can do things the right way. If he sees us together though, everything collapses around us, and the road that Callie and I have to fight our way down to stand even a chance of being able to build a relationship will become a Hell of a lot rockier. Because I’ll never now if she was going to keep her word. I’ll never know if she really would have given up the safe and unfulfilling relationship they share for me. I’ll never know if she wanted me enough to take the leap I need her to make.

I try to walk around Sloan, but he sidesteps, his grin bordering on a leer. I know he knows how I feel about his wife, and I think he’s hoping that I’ve found someone else to occupy my time. I know he’s hoping that the cracks he’s felt in their marriage recently can be fixed now. I think he’s always been a little worried of my ‘friendship’ with Callie, and, honestly, can anyone blame him? “Go find someone else to bother, Sloan.” I drag his name out in the condescending way that always removes people from my path, but he stands firm, his eyes fixed on me. I can’t look directly at him. My face would give me away, and it isn’t my place to tell him about us. If Callie wants me with her, I would be there, of course I would, but she hasn’t asked me to be there, so it’s not my place to be the one who gives the game away, and I know that the guilt in my eyes right now will be all too easy to read if I let our gazes meet. I flinch away as Sloan slaps me companionably on the arm, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

I see it coming before it actually does. Karma won’t let that opening pass us by. I make one last desperate attempt to escape as I hear the telltale slap of rubber against the floor, the footsteps harried, rushed. It’s true that in a hospital, that could be anyone, at any time, but Callie’s had more than enough time to dress and come after me, and I know with certainty that those footsteps belong to her even before they reach the corner. There’s a slight squeak of sneakers on polished floor as she turns the corner, and she sees me before she sees him. The night we met, I remember being pleased by that, but my stomach is sinking, my heart is in my throat and this is so very much not the same situation.

"Erica, you can’t just- Mark." There’s no denying that Callie’s timing is completely perfect, and if I wasn’t standing in the middle of this awful situation, I’d have to laugh. This is exactly what I should have expected to happen, one of the many things that should have given me pause before I entered that on-call room.

He looks between us; our hair mussed, our lips swollen, and puts the pieces together. We're frozen in the moment, all of us afraid to move. The second we do, we have to deal with this. I hoped so hard that the truth would out, but now it has, I wish I could take it back. I don’t know if I’m ready for this anymore, if I can honestly say that I can be with her. I don’t know if I can trust her to keep her word ever again.

I don’t know if I’ll ever believe that I’m more than just the second place trophy in her eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

When I'm paged 911, it's a relief. I've been hidden in my office for what seems like forever, working over the possibilities of the outcome of Callie's discussion with Sloan. I've almost convinced myself to send security down there more than once in what is apparently less than an hour, and I need something else to occupy my mind. As I stride into the Pit alongside Bailey and Sloan, I find myself even more worried about what has happened to Callie. If she and Sloan have finished talking, where is she? Why didn't she come to find me? The look on Sloan's face tells me that he's far from happy, but that could just be the discovery that his wife has been sleeping with me. I'm trying to stop from getting ahead of myself; the melancholy anger in his eyes as he glances across at me doesn't mean that she's finally left him. I don't know that.

Fortunately, I don't have to focus on Sloan. Stevens and Yang are having an argument that's just aggravated enough to provide a completely reasonable alternate point of focus. As I slide on the yellow trauma gown, I vacillate between watching them and watching the door nervously for Callie. If this is a big enough trauma to warrant Bailey, Sloan and me, there's a high chance that orthopedics will have representation here too, and Callie seems to be trusted more with the big cases than any of the attendings in her department. I need her to be here to ward off the ridiculous notion that's entered my head; that she's left Mark, but decided she doesn't want to be with me. I hate what I've let happen to me. I hope Callie can help me fix it. I hope Callie turns out to be worth it. After the months of angst and indecision, and pain, I can't not give being with her a shot… but after she allowed us to be caught, after she let the seed that she's with me only by default take root, I'm thinking about it.

I need to talk to her. I need to hear her justification, to feel the words when she says "I love you" without also feeling the guilt and sorrow. I want to revel in the joy of those words and let myself believe that that's all we need, and everything else is just a distraction. I want to let myself feel the happiness I've been craving, just for today. We can deal with my worries and insecurities tomorrow or the day after. I'm not sweeping them away; I'm just trying to ignore them. At least, I hope that I can revel in her freedom … maybe… if I'm lucky.

The thought I can't push away is that she didn't leave him, that even after he caught us, almost red-handed, she still hasn't told him that their marriage is over; that she and Mark are going to give it another try. Glancing at Mark again from the corner of my eye, rationally I know that can't be true. There's something too broken in his face, in his posture. I know that discovering someone's cheating breaks a part of you even if you do think there's something you can work on, but looking at Mark, this seems like so much more than that. He looks like he's lost everything, and from the heated glares he keeps throwing my way, he blames me. I can't protest. Some of this is my fault. I stopped being able to claim innocence the second I let her kiss me after I knew she was married.

All of this runs through my mind in a matter of seconds, and Bailey breaks my thoughts with a terse "Hey, what do we have?" directed towards the bickering children. I'm not sure which of Yang and Stevens I would prefer to be working with today. Stevens did a good job last night, but she's probably tired, and nearly always chatty. Yang will always work well, but thinks that she's invaluable when she's still just a student. They all think that really, but because of Preston's inappropriate behavior following the shooting that brought me to Seattle Grace for the very first time, Yang is worse than any of the others; forever threatening to tip over the line into insubordination.

Both the residents respond at the same time, a power struggle playing out even in their words. "I don't know yet. " That's Stevens, but before her words have finished, Yang is layering "I don't know," over the top of them. Waiting until Stevens started speaking is probably the smart move, because it makes Yang's words more audible than the other woman's. Of all the things Cristina Yang is, stupid is not one of them.

I watch with disinterest as Izzie tries to protest and Yang holds out some stupid glittery pager as though it proves something, accompanied by an annoyingly superior "Sparkle pager." If I were Stevens, I think I'd be tempted to slap her, but then, that could just be a side effect of how on edge I am. It's been several hours since Callie made me leave her after the awful tableau that was the three of us, frozen in the moment outside one of Seattle Grace's almost infamous on-call rooms, and I've seen nothing, heard nothing. I don't know what's going on, and that's not a situation I cope well with at even the best of times. I have important decisions to make; decisions I shouldn't be thinking about now, and I feel like if I could just see her, if I could just get some idea of where we stand now, I can put those thoughts to the side and focus on whatever the crisis of the day might be.

Stevens seems incensed by whatever the power Yang seems to think she's invoked, if the cocky 'I win' smirk on her face is anything to go by. That look is enough to tilt my internal preference of resident over to Stevens, and in that moment, I know that Yang will win the battle. My life just seems to go that way at the moment. "You can't sparkle pager-" Stevens swings round, fixing her eyes on Bailey, who seems unperturbed by what's going on. "It's not her pager!" I'm sure it would beneath my notice normally too, on days when I'm not looking for something – anything – to shake me from my own thoughts.

Bailey shakes her head slightly as she looks between the two junior surgeons. We're not sure what we're facing in there, and she's probably weighing up which of them will be more useful if the trauma is on the scale that a general surgeon, a plastic surgeon, and a cardiothoracic surgeon are all needed. Grudgingly, I have to admit that that would probably be Yang, and I'm not at all surprised when Bailey speaks, her voice terse, decision made. "Yang, it's yours." Yang does a stupid little victory dance that immediately grates on my already shredded nerves, and Stevens opens her mouth as if she's about to protest, her shoulders slumped just a little in disappointment. To be fair, I understand where she's coming from. It would have really sucked when I was a resident if someone had been able to walk in and take my traumas away from me for reasons as arbitrary as their pager was prettier than mine. I've heard about the sparkle pager before, now I see it in action, but I've never really realized exactly how stupid a concept it is until now. No wonder the standards of this hospital are slipping rapidly. Not one single person seems to treat it as anything more than a game. Bailey continues, effectively bringing closure to the conversation. "Stevens, you need to cover the pit, and didn't you volunteer to oversee Karev's post-ops?"

Stevens makes one more doomed attempt at protest, and I think that even she knows it's futile. "yes, but-"

As expected, Bailey cuts her off mid-sentence, "I don't have time for pettiness, go!" Stevens leaves, her shoulders slumped, and as I follow her exit, I catch sight of black hair shimmering in the florescence of the hospital lights.

The same confliction of emotion I've been fighting with fills me, but I am relieved to see her, to know that she's okay. She looks flushed and a little panicked as she walks through the doors, and before I really realize the words are coming, I'm greeting her. "Hey, Callie." My words are in a tone that's far from normal, but I don't think anyone but Callie will notice. Once again, it's like we're trying too hard to play the roles we've been given, instead of those we inhabit. We can't try to deal with that now, but, stupid as it might be, it does soothe me a little to see her, to know that she is actually okay. Even through the layers of resentment and animosity I've felt towards Mark in the last few months, I knew, intellectually that she would be, but I couldn't help the dark thought that had nagged at me. Mark might be a great guy, at the root of it all, but this isn't a normal situation, and the anger sculpted on his face in the hall earlier worried more than it probably should have.

Callie looks between Mark and me with an expression that borders on flustered, and I wish that I could see inside her head. I wish that I'd had just a moment to talk to her to put my mind at ease at least. "Hi… Hello, Erica." It's not quite what I was expecting, but then, what was I expecting? Callie to throw her arms around me in celebration, scream "Finally I'm free!" and kiss me in front of our colleagues? I wouldn't react well to that once I'd had a few seconds to get over the elation of her being in my arms and not having guilt course through me. At least, not the 'this is a married woman' guilt that has always eventually struck me in the past. And I'm still not certain whether there's anywhere we can go from here, anyway. This is better.

If only I could make my heart believe that.

I'm trying desperately to keep the illusion of 'just close friends' that our colleagues believe when I force out "What's the matter with you?" with an appropriately perplexed look on my face – I hope. There are a lot of other things I want to ask her, like what the fuck she was thinking when she let it come down to Mark catching us almost red-handed, whether she truly was ever going to tell him, what she expects from me now… but that's the only question I can ask, so I do, hoping that her answer will give me some of the clarity I need to push my thoughts of she and I to the back of my mind and focus on the task at hand – the task we still have no idea of the true magnitude of.

Her almost frightened, "Nothing. Nothing," does little to ease my mind, but she does hold my eyes as she says it, and, not for the first time, I desperately want to be able to read her as easily as she seems to see right through whatever façade I choose to wear. Whatever she was trying to tell me is lost in translation, and, my face feels tight, the emotion rolling inside me completely inexplicable.

Bailey tilts her head sideways a little, studying Callie the same way she would a slide under a microscope, and I don't like it at all. I know that Bailey knows more than I'd like her to about this situation, and I hope with an intensity that borders on desperation that she doesn't say anything to spark the anger that I can feel threatening to break free around us. It's the last thing anyone needs right now. We need to go help now, not get dragged down into our own drama. That degeneration happens far too often in this hospital, and I refuse to let a situation involving me become just another one of Seattle Grace's dubious statistics. I'm better than that.

I ignore the voice that tells me I'm clearly not, since I let myself get entangled in this disaster. The heart might well want what the heart wants, but that doesn't mean I get to absolve myself here. There are a million ways I could have handled things that are better than how I let the situation develop.

Sloan ignores Callie completely, and I try not to let that build my hopes; I still don't have any better a view of the big picture here, and I try to push my confusion down, as unsuccessfully as I manage to put any emotion to the side when it comes to Callie. I'm trying to tell myself that it doesn't ultimately matter because I don't know where I stand on this even if their marriage is over and done with now. I don't know if I can ever forgive her.

But I still want her to be free to be with me.

I don't even understand what's going on inside my head.

When Bailey opens her mouth to speak, I hold my breath. "You look flustered, Torres." There's no judgment in her voice, which is as big a surprise as I've gotten all day, but I do notice that she casts a quick glance at both Sloan and I before turning back to Callie. I can only assume she's wondering which one of us has caused the slight sheen on Callie's face, the slight hitch in her breath, the flush that's spread across her cheeks.

I'm praying it's just that she ran here and doesn't know how to behave with both Sloan and I in front of her. I think that's true. But with Callie… I can't be sure. I can't predict her because she throws off the shackles of my expectations at every turn.

Her gaze still flickering between Mark and me as though she's watching tennis, Callie still looks freaked out, and it's setting my nerves on edge. Intellectually I know that, whatever happened in that room, it's not easy for her to be in the same room as both of us while the emotions are still running so high, but intellectually, I know a lot of things that there's no way to feel. And it's not like either Sloan or I would choose to be in one another's company now, either, if there wasn't a job that needed to be done. Callie's words confuse me even further, the high note of fear that's escaped into her voice setting my nerves further on edge. They don't entirely make sense to me, and I need a moment with her to find out where I stand. "No, it's just that there's a trauma, and it's… really big. That's all. It's big… it's a big trauma." I can almost see her slap herself as they escape her, and I wonder if she's even making any sense to herself or just letting the first words that come to her mind be voiced. If I was a betting woman, I'd probably put money on the latter. I may not be able to read her like an open book the way she can me, but I'd like to believe I know her that well.

Bailey's tone is derisive when she speaks again, and her face is screwed up in the way that only Bailey can really pull off, her eyebrow raised, lip curved slightly in distaste. "You're acting weird." We start to move, and I have to admit that Bailey's right; Callie is acting exceedingly weird. Whatever message she's trying to send, I can't decode it, and it sets my nerves even further on edge.

Callie's frozen in place as we walk around her, and Sloan leans in to murmur something in her ear. I have no idea what it is, but it seems to upset Callie even more, if the barely controlled air of desperation in her too-loud "Really big trauma" is anything to judge it by. And that makes my frown deepen. Even when I'm suffering because of her, I can't bear to see anything upset her, however much she may deserve it.

There's no coming back from this for me. I'd swear to it.

If things didn't happen the way I'm hoping, the way I mostly believe they did, I don't know what I'm going to do.

Callie turns in the middle of the crowd, and as I walk past her, she reaches out to touch my hand. It's just a brief moment, but I think it's mean to reassure me, to make us both realize that, yes, what's happening between us, the developments of today, they're important, but we can't focus on them now. I think it's the only way she can find to tell me that we'll talk about everything later, but not to worry, it'll all be okay. At least, I hope that's what she's saying, even if I'm not sure it will be, and I'm not really paying any attention to Bailey's words as she leads us towards the room where our patient is located. It's something about Callie's strange behavior, but I'm steeling myself for a long day of uncertainty, so I don't hear the exact words.

When we walk into the trauma room, the sight there knocks everything else out of my mind, and as awful a situation as this boy has managed to get into, I'm thankful for it; terrible as it may be. I valiantly fight my jaw as my mouth tries to drop open, and in the end I control my reaction to just a muted "Oh my."

The kid, who can't be any older than eighteen takes center stage in the room, as well he should, rescue workers standing around him, looking at us expectantly. He's encased in cement, and I've never seen anything like this before. As uncertain as my tenure at Seattle Grace has been, this is the reason I came here. In Seattle, there's no better trauma center, and the strange cases that end up here are worth the trade of never-ending drama. Or, that's what I thought, when I moved from Pres and my colleagues all tried to convince me not to join the infamous drama club. I laughed at their concerns, certain that I wouldn't allow myself to get dragged in. I was wrong about some things. But on the challenges presented to surgeons here, I was right, and while I'm no longer sure that it was really worth the pain that coming here brought to my life, this is certainly a challenge. I don't think I've even ever heard of surgeons facing a prospect like this one.

I don't know where we can start.

I don't think any of us do.

I hear Yang's disbelieving whisper of "Really big trauma," and internally, there's a moment of levity that's almost enough to make me laugh at how accurate Callie's overreaction was – and how silent she is now.

One of the rescue workers, the guy I assume is the crew leader turns to face us, his face showing us that this has thrown even him just a little. Credit where credit's due though, his professionalism shines through where ours probably doesn't and I immediately school my face into a more appropriate expression than outright disbelief. "So, how you wanna handle this?" His words are very matter of fact, and that's the mindset all of us need to get into if we stand any hope of getting this boy through surgery successfully. Forcing my emotional turmoil down, I start running our options through my mind, never settling on one for long enough to make any real progress.

My gaze flickers to Bailey, who's heading up the group of us. It's a slightly bizarre arrangement, when I think about it. She may well be one of the most professional doctors in this hospital – if not the most, now that I have to rule myself out – but she's still just a resident. In a room with Sloan and me, both accomplished, renowned attendings, Bailey shouldn't have to take point. But everything at this hospital is upside down and inside out, and I think I'm going to give up on trying to instill order on the chaos that rolls around me at every opportunity. I don't step forward to take charge, even though I probably should. Bailey is probably the best person to handle this anyway, since Sloan and I are going to be distracted, however hard we try not to be. Even Bailey doesn't seem able to find words though, and the silence is broken by a weak, almost whimpered "Help me" from the poor kid in front of us. It can't be very reassuring to be faced with a group of surgeons this large, with every one of us looking completely bewildered.

And still, the only words that escape from any of us are a second echo of Callie's panic from Yang, this one a little louder, a little more certain, as though the scene in front of us is beginning to sink in.

Yang's words are followed by an even more pathetic, almost begging "Please."

We need to figure this out, and it probably needs to be fast. I may not know all of the things we need to be concerned about, but crush injuries and rhabdomyolysis are definitely in there, and we're going to need to get in there quickly.

If only I could pin down where we need to start.

***

I don't know how long with been in the room adjacent to the trauma room in which the rescue crews are doing nothing because we don't know what to tell them to do, but I do know that, somehow, we've stopped being able to discuss this rationally, and Callie, Bailey, Sloan and I are arguing passionately about the best way to approach this problem, Yang trying to keep up with the ideas that we throw out as she writes on the board. There's definitely an undercurrent of real anger that has absolutely nothing to do with our jobs as Mark and I trade dissenting opinions, and it feels oddly good to be yelling at both him and Callie, even if it's not about what we really do need to find the time to discuss – Callie and I, anyway. I'd be perfectly happy to never speak to Sloan again, and that goes double for how I feel about him talking with the woman we've been locked in a war over since the day I met her.

The argument is escalating rather than reaching any sort of a conclusion, and I'm starting to fear that the subtext is about to become text when the Chief's voice rises above the commotion. "Why is there a patient in there, and all of you are in here?" I don't know where he came from, but, incompetent though he can be, I'm relieved that someone with more authority is here to try and impose some order on the chaos the five of us are creating as I spin in tandem with my fellow surgeons to face him.

It's Yang who speaks up to explain, and maybe that's for the best. I'm sure that anything that any one of the more qualified doctors in the room could say now would only make the argument flare once more. "Doctor Torres is worried about the limbs, Doctor Bailey is worried about the abdominal crush injuries, Doctor Sloan feels the third degree burns should take the first look, and Doctor Hahn feels the heart and lung issues will kill him before we get to any of this." I'm oddly proud of how succinctly she sums up the issue, and though my opinion on the obscene amount of time she's allowed to spend prioritizing cardio over the rest of her education is unchanged, I do feel like this moment of unbiased summation is the tiniest step forward for her as a surgeon.

Richard for some reason seems to need clarification on what is a perfectly reasonable explanation, "So, in other words?"

Cristina manages to boil it down even further. "No one can agree on where to start."

Somehow, that simple sentence is the trigger for the argument to begin all over again.

***

We've paused briefly in our battle for superiority – since that's what it really is – to look through the window into the room where Andrew and the rescue workers are still waiting for us to decide what we're going to do.

It would help if we knew.

It would also help if my brain could stop drifting to Callie and other untenable situations with unclear answers. No matter how hard I try to focus, a part of my mind is thinking about her. A part of my body is pulling me toward her, and it takes all the willpower I have to not drag her into the hallway so we can talk. I'm used to Callie being the undercurrent of every thought I have, I'm used to having to force myself to focus, but this boy is trapped in an impossible situation, and so am I. So is Callie. So is Mark. And the three of us are trying so hard to work together when it would be easier to let everything implode. Under the circumstances, the parallel is just too easy to find.

Callie turns back from the window, her voice impressively matter-of-fact as her gaze skips over first Mark, and then me. "Cement's contracting. If I don't get in there, he could lose both his legs and his right arm." If Callie can remember what the heck she's doing here, then so can I. We'll have time to work through our issues later, but Andrew may have no time at all if we can't find a course to follow soon.

That snaps me back to the topic at hand, and I don't miss Bailey's instant rebuttal; "He could live without a leg. I'd like to see him live without a liver."

"So, we're saying we'd prefer to see him suffer a long, slow, painful death as the alkaline in the cement continues to burn through his skin?" Typically Sloan's voice is arrogant as he cuts over her, but there's an undercurrent of honest anger that's probably absolutely nothing to do with this situation. I'm sure he's not a violent man… but I don't want Callie anywhere near him on her own. Everything else may be fuzzy where she's concerned, but I know without a doubt that I don't want her left alone with him.

How that's any different from how I've always felt about Callie being near Sloan is beyond me.

Shaking my head, swearing that surgery will be top of my mind for the rest of the day, but knowing I won't be able to completely avoid my mind wandering, I wade back into the argument, hoping that action will keep me sharp. "You can't just start chipping away. Once his circulation opens up, the built up toxins will stop his heart, not to mention rhabdomyolysis."

I've barely had time to finish my sentence before Yang's chasing the tail of it, sucking up to someone. I'm not sure if it's me, Webber, Bailey or all of us, but she's trying to impress us. "We can treat that with dialysis."

She's right. We could. If it weren't for the many, many other problems this boy has. Still, the irritation in my tone is less about her than it is about the fact that I still don't know what's happening in my own life. It's not something that's familiar to me, and I hate it; "Yang, let us work." Well, okay, it's partly about her. She needs to learn that she's not an attending yet, that she needs to respect her superiors a hell of a lot more than she does right now. I'm starting to think that she might be a hopeless case.

Before anyone can say anything in response to me, one of the few people in this hospital who could possibly make this situation worse both professionally, with his incurable idiocy, and personally, since he too has been closer to Callie than I want to imagine anyone but me having been, walks in. George's arms are piled with folders, one of which he hands to the Chief. "Chief, I found an article, but it doesn't say a lot."

I ignore him, trying to figure out how to help the boy in the other room, the boy whose time is slowly slipping away with every moment we spend in indecision. "I could put in a Swan-Ganz."

George continues talking to the Chief, "People who are encased in cement are also usually at the bottom of a river." If I were the melodramatic type, or at least, more melodramatic than whatever I have with Callie has made me, I'd probably be tempted to wish that I were at the bottom of a river right now. Especially as Sloan wades back into the argument. We're going to be forced to interact today, and it's going to be far from pleasant for either of us. I guess I shouldn't expect anything else.

"That's a little overboard." Mark's tone is condescending, and it immediately puts me on the offensive.

My voice is louder and harsher than it really needs to be as I bite back, "You are so wrong."

"I'm wrong?" I wonder if the disbelief in his voice is holding the subtext that I know mine would be if I were in the same situation. As reluctant as I am to admit it, I know that, if it does, I deserve it. Callie deserves it too, but, he's in love with her. He wants to believe that it's all me, I think, that I seduced her and confused her, when, in reality, it's definitely closer to the reverse of that. Still, I knew she was married, and I can't absolve myself of that guilt. I have to let Mark have his anger, even if I don't like it.

Callie, apparently, feels no such impulse. "You are wrong." Is she just talking about surgery here, or did he say something to her about us that she's railing against. I almost want to believe that's true, that she's finally fighting for us. It would make the decision I have to make so much harder, but I so badly want to believe that she's finally standing up for what she feels for me, for what I feel for her.

Her words just raise Sloan's ire even further. "You two working together on this?"

It's a good job that the Chief chooses to step in when he does. We're perilously on the verge of Callie, Mark and I screaming out our own issues in the subtext of our words, and I don't know how long it would stay subtext. I may have allowed my personal life to infringe on my professional persona, but I have no desire for everyone in this room to know the finer points of Callie and me. Especially with Yang and O'Malley in the room. It would only be a matter of minutes before the entire hospital would know. More people than I would like to admit can already see through the shroud of normalcy that Callie and I have attempted to cloak ourselves in. I don't need to expand that knowledge to anyone else.

"Everybody stand down!" Callie, Mark and I all freeze mid-argument at Webber's words, and he pushes on, sensing that he has to take this moment of silence as the opportunity that it is to reassert his authority. Honestly, it's about damn time. I don't know how this man became Chief of one of the best teaching hospitals in the country with the lack of backbone he shows most of the time. "We are fighting the clock, people. It took one hour for the kids to call 911." He glances around at us all, impressing the severity of his words with what almost passes for a glare. "It took three hours for search and rescue to get this guy cut out of the cement. That gives us less than four to six hours to get him out of the cement and into the OR before he is dead." He gives himself a moment to breathe, a moment to meet all of our gazes to press home exactly how emergent this situation is. "Now, we are fighting one hell of a clock. Every minute counts. We work as a team, or that man dies. Do you understand?"

Sufficiently chastened, we all reply in a disjointed kind of unison, "Yes, sir," but I imagine that the same thought I'm having just raced through Callie and Mark's minds. How? The three of us, right now… we're about as far from a team as anyone ever could be, and I knew I was wrong to bring my private life inside these walls.

As O'Malley tries to ingratiate himself with an almost cheerful "Where do you want me, Chief?" I'm reminded… they all do it. Every one of them. If the rumors are true, even the Chief is far from immune to that tendency. I don't know how we practice medicine sometimes.

Webber dismisses his intern, and I'm glad of it. He's right when he tells him that there are already "too many bodies in the room," but, also, I'm not sure I can handle another person with intimate knowledge of the woman who both tortures and thrills me being here. As George leaves, the bands that seem to be wrapped around my chest, waiting to crush me, loosen a little and I breathe easier. The small difference is noticeable, but I can't wait for them to break free. I know that can't happen until Callie and I have a direction, even if that's away from one another, and that that can't happen until we don't have a trauma on our hands, so as much for that reason as any other, I turn to the Chief, hoping that he has some kind of a plan.

Apparently, the extent of his planning is this: "What's the patient's name?" Is that somehow as important as figuring out how to tackle this?

Yang, in classic kiss-ass fashion, provides the answer the Chief is looking for; "Andrew Langston." That's great, but it's not getting us any closer to a solution. The just on the verge of too personal battle that was going on in this room before Richard walked in was at least medically relevant. Mostly.

I'm still hoping the next words out of the Chief's mouth will give us a definitive plan of action. It's not a surprise when his leadership fails me once more, though. "Let's go save his life," escapes him. It sounds authoritative enough, but it still leaves a vital question.

How?

I'm asking that too much lately.

***

There are still too many people in this room, and I'm starting to feel a little trapped. The Search and Rescue workers are chipping the cement away from Andrew's body, and I'm pushed close to Callie as we're gathered around him, trying to monitor his vitals and administer as much care as we can. I'm trying to focus on pulse ox and breath sounds, rather than anything else, and I'm doing quite well. Mostly, I'm even managing to block out a lot of the conversation. It's difficult to find my stride properly right now, but it's medical things that are filling my brain, and that's better than any number of alternatives.

I don't hear what Sloan says to induce the sudden spike in Andrew's pulse, but I definitely hear the panic in the boy's voice as his words almost trip over one another in their rush to escape his mouth, "I'm burning from the inside out? I'm dying. I'm dying, aren't I?"

Trust me, kid, you can live a long time while it feels like you're burning from the inside. A look flutters across Sloan's face that suggests that he feels the same way. I'd have more sympathy if it wasn't for the fact that I've been feeling that way for months, and I don't know for sure if my own torture is over yet. Even if I'm right, and right now Sloan is feeling so many of the feelings I've had recently, it may not be over.

I'm glad for Bailey's intervention, and I force myself to listen to her words, to center myself on the very real problem that's right in front of me, rather than the hypothetical and emotional problem I know I won't be able to escape for very long. "Hey. Hey. Andrew, that's word's not allowed anymore. I'm banning that word from your vocabulary."

Moving down the boy's body slightly, worryingly closer to where Callie is looking more and more concerned at the pressure in Andrew's limbs, I ask, "Can you move your fingers?" He does, just a small amount, and I carry on checking the circulation in the few extremities I can get to. It'd be great if I don't have to try and re-haul his entire circulatory system, and, so far, it's looking like I might be lucky. I don't yet know what we might be facing with his heart and his lungs though, so my optimism is cautious. We're not going to know until we can actually get him onto the OR table, and that's a bigger risk than I'd like to take, under normal circumstances. I have no choice today though.

It's not exactly improving my mood, but I offer him "That's very good." I'm not the greatest when it comes to bedside manner, but at least I'm trying. And even the smallest reassurance can do nothing but help him right now. I'd give anything for the same consideration, I think.

I don't think Andrew's listening to any of our attempts to comfort him though. And why should he? He saw our faces earlier; the shock that was plastered across them didn't exactly say 'trust us, we know what we're doing.' His words seem to be coming faster as he babbles on. It's understandable. "I'm not usually this dumb. I make the Dean's list. I tutor. I'm not usually the guy who's dumb enough to jump into a tub of cement for a girl."

Trapping yourself in a ridiculous, overdramatic and dangerous situation because of a girl? This metaphor isn't exactly subtle, is it?

I wouldn't know what to say, so it's a good job that Callie leaps in. I wonder if she's seeing the parallels between Andrew and myself. Knowing Callie… probably not. She's certainly been almost oblivious to what she's been putting me through at times. "Wait. Not the girl you came in with?"

Andrew's only response is a slight nod of confirmation, and I sense that he's trying to regain his equilibrium, to put on the stoic front that people expect to see. I don't think it's working any better for him than it ever does for me.

"You did this for her?" Callie's voice is heavy with disbelief. I don't know why. Whatever that girl said when she went to talk to Andrew's friends, it can't be worse than toying with him for months, jumping back and forth between people, drawing someone in just to push them away again. It can't be. Callie should know exactly what kind of stupid things people will do for love; exactly how many of their own rules that they'll be willing to break.

She's made me break every one of mine a thousand times.

Andrew's answer is the simplest and most complicated thing in the world, wrapped up in the insecurity of a teenager who clearly feels unworthy. "Lola. The guys dared me, she was watching and I… she was watching." He's almost on the verge of tears, and my heart aches for us both. Love is a bitch. I have to shut down this train of thought too, as a large block of cement is lifted from his leg and he groans, clearly in pain as the blood begins to circulate more freely now that some of the pressure has been relieved. I'm identifying with him, and as a surgeon, feeling too much of anything for your patients usually leads to disaster. Even if it is only empathy. He continues talking through the pain though, and I have to keep working through mine. "And now, not only is she totally unimpressed, but now, after I'm gone, she'll remember me, forever, as the idiot who was dumb enough to jump into a tub of cement."

Bailey interjects, "Hey, we all mess up," and I try not to notice the look that Sloan gives Callie. The only good thing about that look is that Callie doesn't seem to notice it. Bailey's right though. We all mess up. And we're all idiots when it comes to our emotions.

If he's looking for evidence, Exhibit A is standing in my shoes.

The reassurance doesn't do anything for the boy on the table though. "I'm the guy who died in a block of cement trying to impress a girl. I'm like, Hans Solo." I exchange a confused glance with Richard, and it seems like everyone else is doing the same in the sudden silence that descends across us all. Bailey is the only person who's not looking confused, her eyes fixed intently on Andrew's face.

"In Star Wars?" Andrew asks. "He was encased in carbonite?" It doesn't clear anything up for me, but I shake my head and turn back to the heart monitor. Bailey sighs heavily, not sure what to do with that statement. I wouldn't know, either.

***

Sucking on the straw of my water a little while later, I'm watching the search and rescue guys cut Andrew further from the concrete, but I'm not really seeing him. I'm wondering what Callie said to Sloan, where she was between talking to him and arriving in the trauma bay, what had her so flustered when she looked at me. Yang is yawning in the corner, taking a moment to stretch in preparation for the long hours of surgery that extend before us. Sloan is here too, leaning against the window as he watches the workers try to free our patient. Somehow, I think his mind is in a different place too, probably with the woman who's not in the room, having left to make sure that when we free this boy, we can get him straight on the table. Just as I think of her, she reenters, confident strides hiding whatever she might really be feeling. She smiles at me just slightly as I hold out the drink I got for her, and the gentle brush of our hands as she takes it sends an entirely inappropriate shiver down my spine.

"The OR is booked and standing by." She comes to a stop just beyond my reach, and I have to remind myself that that's a good thing; that, as much as I might want to, I can't reach out and touch her right now.

Yang breaks the moment of silence that falls over the room, "Dr Bailey, what is it?" I glance across and notice that Bailey does look worried, like she's thinking of something and can't quite imagine what.

"There's something we're missing." Her words are unsure, but with the next time she speaks, they're certain again, and ring with a truth none of us can deny. "We're forgetting something." She starts to list all the things we've remembered to do and watch out for, and I listen carefully, cursing myself for being distracted and not noticing that something was amiss before. "Gangrene, compartment syndrome, compression, fluid balance, electrolytes. What is it? What is it?"

I feel my eyes narrow as I concentrate harder on her words, the cycle beginning again. It repeats three more times before there's a pause, and the next sound is the cup Bailey was drinking from dropping on the ground. In the next moment, I figure it out too, but Bailey's already started to talk. "Bladder. His bladder. We've been hydrating him and hydrating him for over four hours now."

Just like that, I'm all action, my mind entirely where it's supposed to be. It feels good, and I can't believe that I'd forgotten how soothing this can be for me. "If we don't get a catheter in him quick-"

"His bladder's gonna explode." Bailey finishes my sentence, and we both rush from the room, the others on our tail. This is exactly the kind of action I need today. I need to be rushing to save lives, not standing around waiting for the 'right time' to do my job.

I've had just about enough of waiting for the right time.

***

I catch Callie watching me intently as I finish up my part of the surgery. Just as I start to leave, I see Sloan appear behind her. He doesn't seem happy. That's potentially the most redundant thought I've ever had.

I take a deep breath before I enter the scrub room, knowing that I can't avoid this. There's no other way for me to go, and I can't pretend I'm still needed in surgery. Other than anything else, I'll just be in the way. The doors slide open, and I'm stripping off my gloves as I step into the separated room. We can't make a scene here, though no one would hear our words. The gallery is full of interns, and the Chief is standing just feet away. He may not be able to hear us, but the chances of him not seeing us if the tensions between us erupt are slim to none. A second deep breath allows me to look up, taking in the distance that separates Callie from Sloan, desperately hoping that there's some significance in that. She and I haven't had even a second for reassurance, and I've been searching for it with the same intensity I usually reserve for a heart under my scalpel.

Before I can even think of anything to say in the unstable atmosphere of this room, Sloan's snarling at me, posturing. I don't know if he's trying to regain some masculinity he thinks he's lost or if he's just that pissed, or it's a combination of the two. I can't blame him if he is pissed off. I would be too. I would be ready to castrate him if our roles were reversed, and I steel myself under his angry gaze, trying not to let my emotional volatility affect this situation any more than it has to. My anger with Callie has to stay anger with Callie. I have no right to be yelling at Sloan.

I have no right to be in this moment at all, and Mark doesn't waste a second letting me know that: "Go away, Hahn."

I suppose I should be thankful that he makes my name a pejorative; instead of any of the other things he could potentially call me. He might be well within his rights to cuss and scream and call me every insult he can think of, but I wouldn't stand for it, even now. There are some things I just can't stand, and that's definitely one of them.

Glancing back at Callie's face, I can't read her eyes, but her nod tells me that it's okay to leave her, and I hope, oh God, I hope, that this is it. This is the last time I'll see her like this with him, in a position too intimate for someone who claims to love me. I know they have things to address even if she has – finally – chosen me, but can't she find just a second to let me know what she's decided? After everything she's put me through, I deserve that at least. Even if she's chosen to try and make it work with him, I must deserve to know.

***

Andrew's crashing. I was checking on my other patients, since – despite popular staff belief in this hospital – life doesn't stop just be cause you want it to, but I came as soon as I was paged. When I almost fly through the doors of the OR, Yang already has him open. Which is the right thing to do, what Webber should have had her do, but my emotions are so up in the air I can't figure anything out.

I speak before the mask is completely tied over my mouth. "What is it? What happened?

Webber's voice is matter of fact as he replies, "He threw a PE."

A pulmonary embolism? No, they didn't do the right thing in not waiting for me. Yang has experience - too much experience for a junior resident – but a PE could kill him with just the tiniest mistake, and I'm not willing to leave that in the hands of someone who's still little better than an amateur. Richard might be, but I won't take that chance. "So, what; you decided Yang'd be the best person to open him up?"

I know it's not just the frustration at this particular situation that's seeping into my voice, and I don't blame the Chief for raising his voice a little and trying to assert his dominance. It's one of the few leadership qualities that he does seem to have. "She's a bit of a cardiac savant if you haven't noticed."

"Oh really, is that why she went through the fourth intercostal space instead of the fifth?" Webber's tone irritates me, and I can't help but snap back at him. He's supposed to trust my judgment on when surgeons are ready to go it alone. Yang has a defacto specialty, even though none of the junior residents are supposed to clock significantly more hours in any one discipline than the others, and she's not ready to operate alone. If something goes wrong that isn't related to the heart, she'll fuck it up because she doesn't know how to do anything but cardio, and if Webber ever took the time to ask me what I thought the way he's supposed to, he'd know that too.

It's Yang who responds to me though, sounding harassed and insubordinate, and Webber should put a stop to that, but he always lets it pass him by. He doesn't have the balls for a confrontation, for a conversation that he doesn't want to have. It's pathetic.

"Couldn't get in through the fifth, there's gauze pushing the diaphragm up from the abdominal surgery." She doesn't look up as she speaks. I suppose at least she's focused on the surgery she shouldn't be leading for several years.

Trying to guide her, to make sure that this is done right, that no more damage is done than this boy has already done to himself, I respond, "This could be easier if you did it under floro."

I glance at the heart monitor, worrying about the stats there. If she fucks this up and Andrew dies, she can still celebrate the surgery that our incompetent Chief allowed her to work through. I'm the one who's going to have to explain what happened to his parents without making this hospital look bad, without getting us sued. I'm the one who'll have to see the heartbreak on their faces and take the hit because, if they discover that we allowed a surgeon barely three years into her training to take point on a surgery of this magnitude, we're all screwed.

Instead of listening to me and calling a nurse to set her up for the floro, Yang snaps back at me, as though I'm not her superior – "Well, I only have the TE here, so I'm doing just fine with that."

Growing frustrated with trying to get her to do this properly, I start speaking, "Yeah, but you could reach it better if-"Then I give up, changing tack completely. "Alright, forget it. I'll do it myself. Gown please!"

The scrub nurse starts bringing the surgical gown over to me and my palms are itching for surgery as Yang replies, her voice tense. "I've got this."

This is the one thing I can control right now. I can't control the emotional rollercoaster I've found myself riding, but I can control surgery. I can control who does tricky work like this on hearts. That's my job. I snap back at her, "No. If you had done it under floro-"

"Shut up and let me work!" Yang's words come from nowhere, shotgun rapid. I couldn't be more incensed by it if I tried.

Everyone pauses except the younger surgeon and my eyes fly to Richard's, my shock probably evident. I've been trying to tell him for months of the problems with the confidence and 'God-given right to be a surgeon' idea that so many of the junior residents have here. But, instead of finally seeing what I've been trying to tell him, his gaze and voice are steady as he tells me, "Let her work, Dr Hahn."

I'm frozen.

I feel like just saying 'fuck this hospital, and everyone in it.' It's brought me nothing but trouble since I started here.

After a moment, I leave the room, wondering what else can go wrong today.

***

I'm charting at the desk, steadfastly ignoring Yang's presence while I hang around hoping that Callie hasn't left yet. She must be in another surgery, or on a consult, or something. She can't have deliberately left me hanging like this. The reason I'm not in my office is that I'm hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to steal a moment as she walks by to tell me how things are now, where we're going from here. I'm still fuming about the OR, but it seems far from the most important thing on my mind. As unthinkable as that would have been just six months ago, Callie makes me break all my own rules. I wish I could work out why that is. If I could explain it, maybe I could make it stop. Sometimes, it just hurts too much to love her. Today is definitely turning out to be one of those days. I still don't know what's going on, my career is falling to pieces, and still the first person I want to see is the woman who pulls the marionette strings when it comes to my uncharacteristic actions.

I look up at the footsteps approaching me, knowing instinctively that it's not Callie, but, by now, the reflex is to check. I sigh heavily as I realize that it's Richard. Great. Yang one side of me, the Chief the other… all we need is for Mark Sloan and my mother to appear from nowhere and it's all the last people in the world I want to see surrounding me.

My eyes lock with the Chief, but he must not see the exhaustion creeping in around the edges of my mood, the frustration that's building inside of me when everyone tells me that I'm wrong when I know that I'm not, and the tears that are just barely under control. His voice low and even, the man who just might be the most incompetent boss on the planet starts speaking. "Yang flew solo. You should be celebrating, because that means you're doing your job." He's totally failing to realize that that's not all our job consists of, but fine, if that's what he wants me to aim for, instead of aiming for competent and well-rounded surgeons, I'm sure I can create a few more rebels for him to have to deal with. That's not all he has to say though. "Residents are like puppies. Eager and enthusiastic, and you need to learn how to teach without crushing their spirit. Now, you wanna work here, with my residents, then you need to do better. You need to be a better teacher."

I hold his gaze for a moment, too stunned to think of any response. He wants me to improve and has no plans to address the rampant issues with the residents' behavior? Really?

Just like that, there's not really anything more for me to cling to. Richard has decided, even in the face of Yang's insubordination, that there's nothing wrong with their behavior. It's probably what Callie's decided too.

I'm not so sure anymore that I do want to work here.

Picking up my chart and leaving, my steps slow as I walk past Yang, and our eyes meet. I'm exhausted right through to the bone, and I'm scheduled to work again in just a few hours. Maybe I can just get Callie to meet me in an on-call room. To talk. I'm much too tired for anything else. And I'm not sure that it's an idea that should even be crossing my mind.

***

In the end, I couldn't find Callie anywhere. I don't know where she is, but if it turns out that she was with Mark… I'll probably still be the pathetic puppy that trails after her with my tail between my legs. I'm sick of it, and after everything today, I can't find my damn keys. I don't even look up when I hear footsteps, and when they stop beside me, I don't want to stop rummaging in my purse. I haven't seen Callie since the surgery, and I've been at the hospital for three days on practically no sleep. I want to go home. I want to sink into the oblivion of sleep and not think about anything, least of all Callie and what the Hell happened in that on-call room after I left.

Even in my wish not to think about her, my spirits lighten at the timbre of her voice. "Hi. I wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink?"

I'm so stupidly in love with her and I wish I wasn't. I want so badly to break away from this torture. If she can't be mine, she can't be mine, but I can't keep being a yoyo on the end of her string. This pull you closer, throw you away dance she's been playing needs to end. I need an answer tonight, but I'm not sure that I want to hear it, so I deflect her, continuing to rummage through my bag. "I can't find my keys."

Callie continues on the same trajectory though, and for a moment, my heart soars, hoping the determination is because she can't wait to start the next part of our journey, the part where we walk side by side instead of forever out of sync. "Maybe we could, um… I had something I wanted to talk to you ab-"

I cut her off. "I had the damn keys this morning. I put them in this bag, but I can't remember. This whole thing with Yang has got me so messed up." I know that's not fooling Callie. I know that she knows that it's not Yang who has me screwed up. But, I'm so afraid to hear what this woman has to say; the hesitancy in her tone terrifies me more than I'd ever admit. Why would she be nervous to tell me that she's chosen me instead of him?

"Erica."

Her voice is suddenly simultaneously calmer and more assertive, and I make the mistake of looking up as I ask, "What?"

It's my undoing.

Her hair is loose around her shoulders, curling perfectly. Her lips are a pale pink that make them look incredibly soft, and I just want to drink her in, those lips against mine, to lose myself in her. There's something about her attitude that's different, a freedom about her that I dare not hope is because her marriage is categorically over. I try to remember that she has a lot of explaining to do, and I'm still pissed that she let it come to the point where Mark just discovered us, instead of telling him, but I wished for him to put the puzzle together for so long that it's probably more than vaguely hypocritical that I'm still trying to fault that. As my gaze sweeps down across her body taking in the leather jacket, the pink shirt that hangs loose around her, providing just a hint of the body underneath, and the enthralling tightness of her jeans, I try to focus on the fact that I've had no idea where she was or what was more important than telling me how their conversation went. I fail. It's all I can do to let her speak, to not sweep her up in my arms and cling to her. What I want, more than anything in the world, more than kissing her, is just to hold her. To feel her close, to know that she's really here, and I'm really here, and this is all going to be okay. Everything that happened today can be fixed. And maybe, just maybe, we can be fixed. But, no matter how much I might want it, I can't do that. I still have some pride.

I don't know what the expression on my face is telling Callie, but some of her confidence seems to drain away, her voice shaking a little as she speaks. "I'm saying something here." She finished with a nervous smile, and, despite myself, my heart seems to clench, and some of my anger falls to the back of my mind. It's not gone – far from it – but it's not near the top of the emotions that are bubbling within me. I don't say anything though. I don't know what to say. I don't know where we stand, or what happened after she made me leave her with Mark.

The silence between us seems to drag on for an eternity, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I'm on the verge of begging her to tell me what's happening; to break my heart or start helping to fix the cracks she's caused to form when she opens her mouth once more, her words halting and uncertain. It's endearing, despite that I swore earlier today that I wouldn't make this easy for her after all the torment she's put me through. "Just… I wanted to say…" There's another pause, much shorter this time, and I'm fearing that she is about to break my heart. I've made it clear enough with my inability to stay away from her that I'm not going to reject her if she's finally coming to me unencumbered by the bonds of marriage, and I swear that my heart stops as a slightly terrified expression flits across her face. It's replaced by resolve just as quickly as it arrives, and that does nothing to start my heart beating again, my breath feeling restricted as I wait for her to finish. Her eyes fall upon my lips though, and I think that's her undoing, because she's coming towards me even before she starts to find words again. "I just wanted to say-"

And then her lips are on mine, and it's better this time, a million times better than it's ever been like before. If kissing Callie used to spark electricity, this kiss is a lightning bolt to my body. I forget how tired I am, the utter exhaustion that invaded my bones. What I want more than anything is for this kiss to never end. I don't care that we're in front of the hospital, or that everyone will know if anyone should happen to pass. I don't care, because she doesn't care, and that means it's over. That means Callie is free, free to love me the way I need her to love me, the way this kiss says she does.

For now, that's enough to salve the wounds she's inflicted. We have to talk, and I have decisions to make. She has decisions to make, and nothing is solved, but the feel of her against me, the warmth of her lips and tongue… they fortify me, strengthen me after the day from Hell, and, just for this moment, that's enough.

Everything else can wait.


End file.
